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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802775">Lightning in Your Eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhd/pseuds/mrhd'>mrhd</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Torture, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:55:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802775</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhd/pseuds/mrhd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick and Damian are kidnapped and held hostage. Dick can take more torture than most, but no one comes away unscathed.</p><p>(Non-con is not between Dick and Jason.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson/Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>503</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from "You're Gonna Go Far Kid" by The Offspring.</p><p>For Whumptober. This chapter hits the prompt for Day 2: Kidnapped.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dick wakes up to his phone ringing. He knows from the ringtone that it’s his work phone. He groans and tries to bury his head into whatever piece of Jason’s body his head is resting on.</p><p>“That’s <em>your</em> phone,” Jason grumbles.</p><p>Dick groans.</p><p>“Dick, it’s annoying,” Jason says, pinching the skin of Dick’s waist.</p><p>“Hang up on ‘em,” Dick suggests, snuggling deeper into Jason’s chest. Jason is warm and broad, and he smells like sweat and smoke and leather. Dick would much rather stay in bed with him, hopefully fool around a bit.</p><p>“It’s the Bats.”</p><p>“I know.” Dick huffs. “But it’s my day off.” Dick tilts his head a little so he can kiss Jason’s throat. There’s a gala later tonight, that Bruce and Damian had guilted him in to attending, and in exchange, Dick had gotten the rest of the day free from all family obligations.</p><p>The phone quiets, declining automatically.</p><p>“They’re gonna come storming in here thinking you’re dead, Dickie,” Jason says.</p><p>“They won’t. There’s sensors keeping track of our vital signs.”</p><p>Jason huffs and Dick continues kissing up the column of his neck, strong and thick. There’s a mark from Dick’s mouth last night, and Dick licks over it.</p><p>“Ah, fuck,” Jason growls, his voice still low and gravelly with sleep.</p><p>Dick grins against his skin. He rolls a bit so he can straddle Jason properly.</p><p>He sees Jason eye him up and Dick keeps grinning, stretching up and back, rippling his abs, showing up.</p><p>“Fuck, Dickiebird,” Jason says, running his hand up Dick’s chest.</p><p>Dick preens and presses into the touch.</p><p>The phone rings again.</p><p>Dick glares at it, but Jason answers it, snapping, “He’s busy, little birds,” before hanging it up again.</p><p>Dick laughs and leans down to lick into Jason’s mouth. He tastes like stale morning breath, but Dick is sure he does too, and they’ve never minded before.</p><p>His phone rings again.</p><p>Dick sighs and pulls back enough from Jason to answer. “What is it?” he asks. He knows it’s nothing too serious, because his phone hadn’t played the emergency tones, so he feels justified in being annoyed. “It’s my day off.”</p><p>“Sorry, Nightwing,” Tim says. Dick is sure he’s smiling. “There’s a situation we need you on. Canvassing for that smuggling operation.”</p><p>Dick sighs again. He <em>had</em> promised Tim to help him with the investigation once it came time for more muscles.</p><p>“Please do not be indecent with Todd when we arrive,” Dick hears Damian say over Tim’s comm.</p><p>He laughs. “How far out are you guys?”</p><p>Beneath him Jason sighs too and pinches Dick’s leg in annoyance.</p><p>Dick gives him his best apologetic look and pets at his chest hair.</p><p>“Seven minutes,” Tim says, which means they had headed out before even calling Dick.</p><p>Dick sighs. “Alright, alright, see you in seven.”</p><p>“Just can’t ignore the little brothers, huh?” Jason says. He sits up, and it’s only Dick’s good balance that keeps him in his lap.</p><p>“I did promise Tim,” Dick says. “Didn’t think they’d call today though. Sorry.” He tilts his head to knock his forehead against Jason’s.</p><p>Jason sighs. “Such a softie,” he says. “One pout and you’ll do anything they want.”</p><p>“Tim and Damian both have too much pride to pout,” Dick says. But he knows Jason is right. He feels responsible for all of them, all the little boys who had followed in his footsteps and taken up with the Bat. He knows logically, that Tim is smarter than him, Jason stronger, Damian sharper, but he still feels that older and more experienced, it’s his job to guide them. “Goes for you too, little wing,” he adds, softer, cupping Jason’s stubbled jaw and pulling him close to kiss, soft and open.</p><p>Jason kisses back, sighing into Dick’s mouth. “Guess you better get ready, Nightwing. Can’t have the little ones seeing you half-hard in Red Hood’s lap.”</p><p>“Mm,” Dick agrees, but he can’t stop himself from kissing Jason again, his mouth wet and warm and open for Dick’s tongue. Jason sucks on his tongue and it goes straight to Dick’s cock, twitching and firming between his legs.</p><p>When he pulls back, Jason is smirking. “Should have told ‘em to fuck off,” he says, his big hands wrapping around Dick’s hips.</p><p>Dick groans quietly. He kisses Jason again, just once more, shorter, before he pulls back, climbing out of bed, and off of Jason.</p><p>Jason rolls on his side, eyes following him. Their clothes are strewn about where they threw them last night, uncaring, distracted, too busy with their mouths and groping hands. Dick finds his costume rumpled and thrown haphazardly at the end of the bed. Alfred and Bruce would be ashamed. He bends over to pick it and Jason leans across the bed, smacking his ass.</p><p>“Hey,” Dick says, putting his hands on his hips and grins.</p><p>Jason smirks at him. “Couldn’t resist,” he says. He shifts forward and grabs Dicks hips again.</p><p>“Jason,” Dick says in reproach, but he tilts his head down so Jason can kiss him, hands tightening over the bruises he left last night, tongue deep in Dick’s mouth. Dick’s getting even harder, which will make the suit uncomfortable, but he can’t bring himself to stop.</p><p>“Ah, fuck, Jay, we don’t have time,” he says, tilting his head back.</p><p>Jason bites at his collarbone. “Keep the bats waiting,” he suggests. “Can’t go out with your cock all fat like that anyways.”</p><p>“You’re a bad influence,” Dick accuses, but he pushes Jason back on the bed and crawls up his body to keep kissing him.</p><p>Jason grins into the kiss and wraps his hand around Dick’s cock. “Gonna make you come fast, Dickie,” he says, voice low.</p><p>Dick groans into his mouth. “You better,” he says, wrapping his own hand around Jason’s cock, thick and filling out in his hand.</p><p>Jason growls, low in his throat. He does that when he’s turned on, and Dick doesn’t think it’s actually aware of it, which just makes it hotter. He stretches his back, elongating it, making up for their height difference as best he can, unwilling to sacrifice either Jason’s mouth or his hand. He knows what Jason likes most, a tight grip and a harsh jerk.</p><p>Jason moans and arches his hips when Dick squeezes around the head. “Fuck,” he gasps.</p><p>Dick can’t help smirking. “Gonna make you feel good, Jay,” he says.</p><p>Jason grunts and attaches his mouth to Dick’s neck, sucking and biting as he rocks up Dick’s hand.</p><p>Dick gasps and rocks back against him, Jason’s own hand warm and rough with callouses on his cock. The drag is harsh and fast, and maybe they should have stopped for some slick, or even spit, but they’re both too far gone now, and besides, this has happened more times than Dick can count, the two of them getting too wrapped up in one another to have anything but messy, desperate sex.</p><p>Jason bites Dick’s neck when he comes, his hand tightening on Dick’s cock.</p><p>Dick groans, loud, coming to the warm feeling of Jason’s come on his wrist. He falls to his elbows, trying not to collapse against Jason, because if he does he’s fairly sure he’d just fall asleep again. “Fuck, Jay,” he pants, dropping his forehead to Jason’s shoulder.</p><p>Jason makes another growling noise and dips his head to bump his nose against Dick’s temple.</p><p>Dick lets himself catch his breath before he heaves himself up again. His phone beeps with a proximity alarm. “Fuck,” he says. “Tim and Damian are here.” And he’s got come on his arm and stomach. Shit.</p><p>Jason sniggers a little. “Better clean up good, big brother,” he says.</p><p>Dick smacks his stomach lightly, grabbing a pair of boxers off the floor to wipe himself off with, quick, before anything starts to stick. “Help me. Turn my costume right side out,” he says, dashing to the drawers for underwear.</p><p>“Fuck, you’re bossy,” Jason says, but he does as Dick asks.</p><p>“Dick?” Tim calls.</p><p>“Just a minute!” Dick calls back.</p><p>Dick gets his socks and underwear on steps into the Nightwing suit that Jason is holding out for him.</p><p>With a grin, Jason grabs Dick’s cock squeezing gently as he settles it into the cup.</p><p>Dick glares, but he also shivers, and Jason grins.</p><p>He makes up for it by coming behind and zipping up the back of the suit while Dick grabs his gauntlets and his sticks.</p><p>“Thanks, babe,” Dick says with a grin, turning around to kiss Jason’s cheek.</p><p>Jason scoffs and shoves him off. “Go on. Save your kittens or whatever,” he says.</p><p>“Grayson!” Damian shouts, pounding on the bedroom door.</p><p>“One sec, Dami!” Dick calls. “Fuck, put something on,” he says to Jason, who is still naked and spattered in come.</p><p>Jason grins and grabs a pair of sweatpants to pull on wiping himself down.</p><p>It’s not a moment too soon, because Damian shoves the door open, arms crossed, his best imitation of Bruce’s disproving frown on his face. “You said you would not be indecent with Todd!” he says.</p><p>Jason laughs. “Not that indecent,” he says. “Fully clothed and everything.”</p><p>“Ugh,” Damian says.</p><p>“Sorry, Damian,” Dick says, shoving his feet into his boots. “I’m ready to go now.”</p><p>Damian makes another tutting noise that’s reminiscent of Alfred before he stomps away.</p><p>Jason chuckles. “You’re gonna get a lecture,” he says to Dick.</p><p>Dick shrugs. “They’re the ones who bothered me on my day off.” He kisses Jason again, unable not to, Jason looking all rumpled against the bedding. “See you late? After the gala?”</p><p>“Late,” Jason agrees. “I’ll be out tonight.”</p><p>“Stay safe, little wing,” Dick says, kissing him one last time.</p><p>Damian continues to glare at Dick as they climb into the stealth jet Tim has parked outside the apartment window.</p><p>“Busy, Nightwing?” Tim asks, smirking.</p><p>Damian makes a disgruntled noise and throws himself dramatically into one of the seats, crossing his arms.</p><p>Dick just grins and claps Tim on the shoulder. “It was supposed to be my day off, Timbo,” he says again, winking.</p><p>Tim’s domino maks is off, so Dick can see him rolling his eyes.</p><p>“Why must you be so disgusting, Grayson?” Damian asks. “And with Todd of all people.”</p><p>Dick ruffles his hair and Damian jerks away, glaring. “Aw, Damian, you’ll understand it when you’re older,” Dick promises. “What seems gross is actually quite nice with the right person.”</p><p>Damian kicks Dick in the shin but he pulls the blow so it barely hurts. Progress. “You know that’s bullshit,” he grumbles.</p><p>Then “when you’re older” excuse is something Dick tries not to use with Damian. It’s dismissive, and more often that not, untrue. But in this case, Dick thinks it is true, especially for Damian, who is still hesitant about socialization and physical contact. “I thought it was gross too once,” Dick says.</p><p>“Hmph,” Damian says. “I wish you would not subject me to it.”</p><p>“If you learned to knock, little D, you wouldn’t have to.”</p><p>“You were taking too long!” Damian snaps. “And you’ll stick your tongue in Todd’s mouth even when there is no door.”</p><p>Tim snorts.</p><p>It’s Dick’s turn to cross his arms over his chest and huff. So what if he and Jason engage in PDA from time to time? Jason never lets them get too far if they’re not in a room. Or under the cover of Gotham’s night. “You should be happy that your older brother is in a happy relationship,” he says, kicking at Damian’s ankle.</p><p>“Tt.”</p><p>“I am very happy for you, Dick,” Tim says in a flat voice.</p><p>Dick snorts. “Thanks so much, Timbo.”</p><p>“Father would tell you that you are being foolish,” Damian says.</p><p>Dick frowns at him. His relationship with Jason is hardly a secret, except with Bruce, who they still haven’t told. Dick doesn’t believe for a second that Bruce is completely clueless, he’s far too smart. But they’ve never spoken of it, and Dick’s been avoiding the conversation. He’s not sure why, other than a vague anxiety over being subjected to Bruce’s disproving look. Jason hadn’t wanted to tell anyone, and he’d freaked out once Barbara had admitted that she and Cass had figured it out. So Dick knows that <em>he</em> hasn’t spoken to Bruce. And so far no one else has blabbed, not even Damian, who otherwise expresses his disproval loudly and often. Dick isn’t sure exactly what that’s about, if it’s about Damian’s distrust of Jason, or if it’s from a protective, jealous instinct over Dick. It’s been nothing but glares and pointed, grumpy remarks, but if it escalates, Dick knows that he’ll have to talk to him about it.</p><p>“Alright, no chatter,” Tim says, slipping his mask on. “We’re here.”</p><p>Today they’re canvassing a warehouse that they’re fairly certain is being used as storage for a smuggling operation. They know for sure that it’s drugs, and Dick hopes that it’s not people as well, or Jason will be furious about not being a part of it.</p><p>Onboard the jet Tim has the building specs provided to the city planning archives. He’s updating them, adding notes as Dick and Damian creepy around the outside of the building and place both listening and imaging devices. It’s not hard work, but it is time consuming, because they’re being careful and thorough. Every one of them has had a bust go bad because of unexpected tunnels or vents. By the time they finish it’s creeping towards early evening, meaning that Dick needs to go straight to the manor to prep for the gala.</p><p>Quietly he mourns the day that he’d had planned for himself and Jason. It had involved a great deal of their bed, a bit of Jason’s good cooking, and a whole lot of sex. Now instead Dick will have to pretend that the dainty hors d’oeuvres that rich people enjoy are enough to fill him up while he smiles and charms Gotham’s upper crust. And he’ll have to keep and eye on Damian, make sure that he doesn’t lose his temper at any of them. He sighs. At least he can drink at these things now without causing an underage drinking scandal. Maybe he’ll be able to sneak away early and escape back to the apartment, meet Jason tipsy and ready when he comes back from patrol.</p><p>It’s a plan that makes it easier to remain cheerful, to hide his disappointment. Alfred greets them all with a protein platter, which also helps.</p><p>Dick ends his preparation in the bathroom, putting on basic makeup to look good for the cameras, and coverup to disguise the hickey Jason has left on his neck. His shirt is on, left unbuttoned as Dick puts the concealer on. He doesn’t particularly care, but people would gossip, and then Bruce, Damian, <em>and</em> Jason would all frown at him.</p><p>There’s a short warning knock as Bruce opens the door.</p><p>“Why do you even bother knocking, B?” Dick asks. “What if I was indecent.”</p><p>“I have seen you indecent before,” Bruce says lightly.</p><p>Dick snorts and smears the makeup. “Shit.”</p><p>“Let me,” Bruce says.</p><p>Dick raises an eyebrow at him in shock, but he turns sideways on the chair, handing Bruce the sponge and the container of concealer.</p><p>Bruce’s frown is more of a physical sensation than it is an expression.</p><p>“Don’t give me that look,” Dick whines. “I’m an adult now, I can make out with people.”</p><p>Bruce sighs, longsuffering and dramatic, resting the heel of his hand on Dick’s throat. “You’ve had several marks lately.”</p><p>“So?” Dick says, even as he feels his cheeks heat. Jason likes to bite, and Dick likes to be bitten.</p><p>Bruce raises his eyes to look Dick in his. “You’re seeing somebody,” he accuses.</p><p>Dick tries to keep his stare steady, his face innocent, his blush from deepening. He’s glad for his dark skin.</p><p>“I know you, Dick,” Bruce continues. “I know that you do not enjoy casual encounters.”</p><p>Dick wants to admit it, to tell that he is, that he’s happy and in love, but the fear of Bruce’s disappointment stops him. It wouldn’t take long for Bruce to figure out that it’s Jason, and he knows that Jason and Bruce still butt heads, but that even so Bruce sees both of them as his sons. Bruce’s disproval won’t convince Dick otherwise, like he knows Jason fears, but it will be hard to take; Dick knows himself well enough to know that it would make him unhappy.</p><p>He doesn’t say anything and Bruce sighs. “It’s not Slade Wilson, is it?”</p><p>Dick snorts again. “God, no. I thought that rumor died.” Jason had been furious when the rumor had started circulating, and eventually Red Hood and Deathstroke had gotten into a brutal fight a few days later. Jason had come back bruised all over, some of them clearly from bullet hitting his armor, but he’d been far more settled.</p><p>“Hm,” Bruce says.</p><p>“I don’t even know how it started,” Dick complains.</p><p>“Hm,” Bruce says again.</p><p>“Bruce, I’m not dating Deathstroke.”</p><p>“He’s too old for you,” Bruce says, his voice flat.</p><p>“I’m not dating him!” Dick repeats.</p><p>“If you’re into older men there are better options,” Bruce says, voice still placid.</p><p>“Bruce!”</p><p>Bruce’s lips twitch.</p><p>Dick kicks his leg. “I’m not dating an older man,” he says. “There. Are you happy?”</p><p>“An older woman?” Bruce guesses.</p><p>Dick kicks him again.</p><p>Bruce’s lip twitch once more.</p><p>“Ugh,” Dick says. “Stop teasing me.”</p><p>Bruce puts the make-up aside and stands.</p><p>“Can I drive?” Dick asks.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>The party is just as boring as Dick had feared. He plasters on the fake smile and turns up the charm. Luckily everyone seems more interested in Bruce. Damian is at his side, quiet and stiff, and Dick predicts that he’s going to make a run for it sooner rather than later.</p><p>Dick checks his watch for the sixth time in the past hour. It’s a fancy one, expensive, fitting of Bruce Wayne’s son. But it hadn’t been Bruce who’d given to him. It was Jason, and he hadn’t bought it, but had taken it off a mob boss he’d beaten up as Red Hood. The face of the watch is a deep red, with an outer ring of deep blue.</p><p>Dick had known instantly why Jason had nabbed it, and he likes wearing it, likes running his fingers over the dents likely left by Red Hood’s combat boots.</p><p>The first time Barbara had seen Dick wearing it she’d burst out laughing. “I had no idea Jason was so romantic,” she’d said. “Is he courting you?”</p><p>Dick had pouted appropriately, but let her tease. As his ex, and his friend, Barbara had more than earned the right.</p><p>He’s playing with his watch when two men approach.</p><p>Instantly, Dick’s on alert. He doesn’t recognize these people, and he’d memorized the guest list last night. Besides, while their pants are black, they’re not slacks, and they’re wearing combat boots instead of dress shoes.</p><p>“Hello, gentlemen,” Dick says, still trying to ooze charm.</p><p>“Frederich Walsh,” one of them says, “nice to meet you, Mr. Grayson.” He offers his hand for Dick to shake.</p><p>Dick ignores it.</p><p>“Frederich Walsh” and his friend both frown. “Didn’t your rich daddy teach you manners?” the second one says.</p><p>Dick shrugs. “He did. He also taught me not to trust people who aren’t on the guest list,” he says smoothly. He continues playing with the watching, ready to trigger the emergency alter button that Jason had modded in.</p><p>The second man, the larger one, steps closer. “Shake his hand, pretty boy,” he warns.</p><p>“No, I don’t think I will,” Dick says. He’s already moving, ducking, but he hadn’t anticipated that false Frederich Walsh would have an abnormally long needle at hand to stab viciously into the back of Dick’s hand.</p><p>Dick manages to press the button on his watch before everything goes black.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Distress signals are received.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For Whumptober! Still hitting the prompt for Day 2: Kidnapped, but also Day 5: Rescue and Day 10: Lost.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dick’s alert takes up Jason’s HUD when it comes in.</p><p>“Shit,” Jason says, kicking the mugger he’s dealing with hard across the back of his knees.</p><p>There’s the crack of broken bone, and somebat will surely chew him out for excessive force later, but Jason doesn’t care. He kicks the man in the back too, pinning him down on the ground with his boot.</p><p>The man whimpers pathetically.</p><p>His victim, an older man, mumbles a thank you at Jason before booking it.</p><p>Jason doesn’t care about either of them. “Where the is Di-Nightwing?” he demands over the open bat channel.</p><p>Thers’a beat of silence before he hears Barbara’s voice.</p><p>“Where he’s supposed to be,” she says carefully.</p><p>“You sure about that?” Jason snaps. “Because I just got a red fucking alert from him.”</p><p>“I didn’t.”</p><p>“Well maybe we have our own shit set up!” Jason explodes. He tries to breathe, tries to steady himself. He can’t lose it, not now, not with Dick in danger.</p><p>“His bio tracer is giving off strange readings,” Stephanie, assigned to cave duty tonight, says.</p><p>Jason grits his teeth.</p><p>“O, did you check the cameras?” Tim asks.</p><p>“Doing it now,” Barbara says.</p><p>There’s a terrible few seconds of silence, of waiting.</p><p>“I checked the cameras at the Wayne gala. I…I don’t see him. Hood is right.”</p><p>Jason growls. “I know I’m fucking right!”</p><p>“I don’t see Robin either,” Oracle adds. “Spoiler?”</p><p>“Weird readings from him too,” Steph confirms. “B’s look normal though.”</p><p>“I see him. I think he’s realized they’re gone. He’s looking through the crowd.”</p><p>Jason darts back through the streets to his bike, not bothering with the roofs. “Who cares about that? Where did Nightwing and Robin go?” he demands.</p><p>“I…I’m not sure,” Barbara admits.</p><p>“What do you mean you’re not sure?” Jason snaps.</p><p>Barbara sighs at him. “They’re shielding and bouncing around the tracker signals. Probably just a precaution, I doubt they’ve found the subdermal devices.”</p><p>If Jason gets Dick back all carved up, people are going to pay. What’s the fucking <em>point</em> of Bruce’s insane, over the top paranoia if they’re going to lose them to some kidnappers? His boots strike the pavement with hard thunks as he runs. Dick is gone, probably being hurt right this second, and there’s no fucking reason they should have allowed something like this to ever happen.</p><p>“GCPD just got a call,” Barbara says. “A message to Bruce from the kidnappers. They’re demanding money for the safe return of…one of them.”</p><p>Fuck. Nightwing and Robin being kidnapped for ransom is almost laughable. “What do you mean ‘one of them’?” Tim asks, his voice tight, controlled.</p><p>Barbara swallows audibly. “If Bruce sends enough money then he gets to pick which child he gets back.” Her voice is outwardly revolted. “They say they’ll send proof of their wellbeing.”</p><p>Well, fuck nuggets, of course it’s a team of sadistic fuckers. Jason wants to say something snarky, but the anger and frustration is building up too thick inside him. He wants to shoot something. Preferably someone.</p><p>“Did they say what the proof would be?” Tim asks.</p><p>“No, that was the whole message. The Commissioner is giving the report to Bruce right now.”</p><p>“Oracle, I’m leaving the Titans, going back to the cave to join Spoiler and help you,” Tim says. “Red Hood, Black Bat stay on the streets. We can’t let Gotham go unprotected.”</p><p>Jason growls. “Fuck Gotham!” It rankles him, it always does, talking to the kid who’d taken his place, who had been <em>better</em> at it. He desperately wants to hit something. Fuck, talking to the fucking lot of them puts him on edge. It’s worse without Dick to mediate.</p><p>“Hood, we don’t have any leads right now,” Tim says, “and we need-”</p><p>“You guys are the ones who fucking <em>lost</em> him! At a Wayne function!” Jason snaps. “I’m going to fucking find him.”</p><p>“Hood-”</p><p>“I’m not gonna sit on my ass!” Jason continues. Finally, his bike. He swings up on it.</p><p>“I have the area around the event covered,” Oracle says. “No use heading there they’re not there any longer. Black Bat, go east. Red Hood, west. Patrol, and keep your eyes peeled.”</p><p>Jason has no intention of patrolling but he revs his bike and heads in the direction Barbara had directed. It’s easier to take orders from her, from her smooth, supportive, authoritative tone. Besides, Jason had known her, remembers what it’s like to trust her, to be on a team with her.</p><p>“It doesn’t seem like these guys know anything about Nightwing or Robin,” Stephanie says. “It seems like they just wanted Bruce’s children for ransom. That’s something.”</p><p>“It’s really not,” Jason snorts. “Do we have any idea what am I looking for? Van? Warehouse? Penthouse? Disturbance in the sewer system?”</p><p>“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Barbara says, and she sounds like she means it. Jason bites his tongue. He knows that he cares about Dick too, even though that’s part of the reason he’s wants to snap at her. He tries, he does, to get along with Barbara. He likes her, and it’s not her fault that she fell in love with Dick, and it’s also not her fault that Dick still cares about her too.</p><p>“I’ll put my ear to the ground,” Jason says. “A plan to kidnap the Waynes has to be big news.” He aims himself towards the nearest hang out. The might not take nicely to Red Hood showing up, but they won’t scatter on site like they would at the sight of the other bats. He tries to focus, on the vibrations of his bike, the leather of his gloves as he curls his fingers, the roar of the bike’s engine, and not think. Not let his brain go into that angry haze of green and red that’s always there in the back of his mind, whispering, tempting.</p><p>Because Dick is gone, and Jason would die again to get him back.</p><p>“Oracle.”</p><p>It’s the low, gravely voice of the Batman.</p><p>“We’re already on it,” Barbara says. “Red Robin and Spoiler are working with me to track down whatever we can see from cameras. Spoiler, check and track vehicles leaving the event. Red Robin, you sort through any audio you can find. Maybe someone mentioned something. I’ve got the CCTV up. Hood and Black Bat are in the streets.”</p><p>“Wayne is ready to offer whatever money the abductors ask for,” Bruce says, still growling.</p><p>“B-”</p><p>“Find them.”</p><p>It’s obvious that Bruce has disconnected his communicator.</p><p>There’s a bit of ringing silence in his wake. The Batman is furious, and that’s a dangerous thing.</p><p>“We will find them,” Barbara says. Usually it’s Dick’s job to bring up team morale, and his absence physically aches in Jason’s chest.</p><p>He knows that they’ll find them. He just hopes that it’ll be in time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am on twitter @mrhdfic and tumblr @winnifredburkle if you want to keep up with my Kinktober as well!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dick gets hurt.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning for explicit rape in this chapter, as well as non-consensual drug use, and demeaning taunts.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dick comes to with his stomach rolling, his head spinning. It takes him a few moments to realize that it’s because he’s being moved, and not just because his mind is spinning.</p><p>“He’s awake,” someone says. Whoever it is shakes Dick a little.</p><p>Dick groans. “Don’t touch me,” he says, his voice slow and hoarse.</p><p>He hears a mean chuckle. “Don’t give us orders, pretty boy,” someone says. “You’re ours to play with now.”</p><p>Dick blinks his eyes a few times, forcing them to focus. He’s definitely been drugged, and the laxness of his muscles and the slowness of his mind means that the drug is still working its way through his system.</p><p>He’s chained in a standing position, arms and shoulders just too high to be comfortable, cuffs bolted crudely to the metal wall behind him. He can feel the vibrations of a vehicle beneath his feet, they must be in some kind of truck, most likely moving to disguise any signals indicating their location. There’s three men in the truck with him, one of them in front of him leering, one with what looks like a stun stick in his hand, and then third crouching over another body, chained to the floor.</p><p>Dick’s stomach lurches again, recognizing Damian. “Damian,” he says, straining against the cuffs, testing them. Crude they may be, but the restraints are solid, and with his feet unable to get any firm purchase on the floor, Dick is short on leverage. “Damian!”</p><p>Damian’s body doesn’t stir.</p><p>“You fuckers, what did you do to him?” Dick demands. It feels like his mind is clearing, just a bit, under the anger.</p><p>“Shut up,” the man nearest Dick says, punching him in the gut.</p><p>Dick’s breath leaves him in a whoosh and he tries to double over, but is stopped by the restraints.</p><p>The man with the stick, who looks to be in charge, is glaring at Damian’s guard. “What did you do to the kid?” he asks, voice mean and sharp.</p><p>“Nothin’!” the man protests. “I just pricked ‘im, like the boss said.”</p><p>“Must have been too much in the dose,” the leader muses. “He breathing?”</p><p>“If you’ve killed him I’ll kill you,” Dick growls, with an anger and darkness that surprises even himself. Bruce would frown at him, would bench him, would lecture him, but it doesn’t matter. It’s more important that these fuckers believe Dick could kill them.</p><p>“He’s breathing,” the guard says, and Dick’s guard lashes out at him again.</p><p>“I told you to shut up.”</p><p>Dick grunts. He’s been stripped, which means that everything he keeps concealed in his suit jacket is gone too. Damian has been too, and Dick knows that the kid hides batarangs under his clothes, which could be a huge problem if the men who’ve captured them connect the dots between Damian Wayne and Robin. “What do you want?” Dick asks. He needs to keep them talking, keep them distracted, as he thinks of a way out of this.</p><p>“Nothing from you,” the man says. “But something significant from your daddy.”</p><p>Dick rolls his eyes. Money then. It’s almost disappointingly pedestrian. The official stance of Wayne Enterprises is to pay whatever ransom is need for any of them, but not for Bruce himself. Of course, the Batman is always ready to stop them before it becomes impossible to get the money back.</p><p>“Hey,” the man says, backhanding Dick across the face.</p><p>Dick flows with it, turning his head, but it still hurts.</p><p>“What are you making that face for?”</p><p>“Been kidnapped before,” Dick says. “Old hat at this.” He smiles, and gets another hand to the face for his trouble.</p><p>His captor isn’t holding back, and Dick spits out blood from where he’s bitten into his cheek.</p><p>“You got spirit, kid,” their leader says, stepping closer. “Maybe too much spirit.”</p><p>He lashes out with the stick, no electricity coming through, but the strength behind his strike across Dick’s ribs still fucking hurts. The next strike is to Dick’s temple, and he blacks out again.</p>
<hr/><p>When Dick comes to once more, blinking spots out of his vision, the leader is staring at him, appraising him. Dick’s head is pounding, swimming badly enough that he rests it against his raised arm and pants. It’s hard to focus his thoughts, they must have drugged him some more. Fuck. Dick hates being drugged, hates how it makes him slow and confused.</p><p>“That’s better,” the leader says, running the end of his stick over Dick’s jaw.</p><p>“Ge’off,” Dick slurs.</p><p>“I don’t think I will,” the man says. He chuckles darkly. “Not so sassy now, are you?”</p><p>Dick doesn’t say anything, trying to catch his breath, regulate his breathing and his heart, feeling sluggish with the drugs.</p><p>“Hm, you are pretty,” the man says.</p><p>“And a slut too,” the other man says.</p><p>Dick flinches. He’d forgotten, that there were two men focused on him. That’s bad, he needs to be more aware of what’s happening if he’s going to formulate an escape plan.</p><p>The second man laughs. “You don’t like that?” he asks. “But you are. Look at this.” He taps at Dick’s neck, pressing into a bruise. <em>That’s Jason’s mark</em>, Dick thinks wildly. Jason’s and his, their mark, from waking up together. He bites back a whine, irrationally upset that someone else would dare to make it into anything else.</p><p>“Lots of marks,” the man says, skating his hands down Dick’s torso.</p><p>Dick tries to flinch again but is held fast once more. He know he has lots of bruises, both from Nightwing’s life and Jason’s hands and mouth, and he knows what it makes it look like. “How many people you got to fuck to get so many marks?” The man laughs again.</p><p>“Stop,” Dick manages.</p><p>Both men laugh this time, the leader’s breath disgustingly close to Dick’s ear. Dick tries to turn his head away, but the man grabs his hair.</p><p>“Fucked anyone tonight, you little slut?” the thug asks.</p><p>“I can check,” the leader says, voice like poison, as he slides his hand down Dick’s back, over his ass.</p><p>“No,” Dick says, starting to panic. “Don’t.”</p><p>But the man is already slipping his fingers between Dick’s cheeks, poking at his hole.</p><p>Dick’s breathing grows short and he tries anything to get away, canting his hips forward, trying to pull himself up his restraints, trashing, but none of it is any use. He’s too weak and uncoordinated and his captors are too close.</p><p>They’re both laughing at him again and Dick bites his lip so he doesn’t cry out. He can’t do that, can’t show them that kind of weakness.</p><p>“He <em>has</em>,” the leader says, finally withdrawing his fingers.</p><p>“No,” Dick protests. He hasn’t, hasn’t fucked anyone except Jason, and not tonight.</p><p>“You’re loose,” the man taunts, and Dick wonders frantically if he’s wet still, if this stranger felt Jason’s come still inside him.</p><p>The thought does make him whine out loud. It’s distressing, the idea that these men would make themselves privy to something private, something that his and Jason’s.</p><p>The men laugh cruelly again.</p><p>“Stop, please,” Dick begs, ashamed of himself even as he does. He’s Nightwing, Batman’s first ever Boy Wonder, he’s the oldest, he’s not supposed to be weak, to be taken advantaged of so easily. He can’t protect his family like this. He can’t free himself like this, can’t help Damian, and god, Dick hopes that he’s still out of it, that Damian isn’t awake to see his older brother struggle like a rookie.</p><p>“No, I don’t think I will,” the leader says. He drops the hand that was palming Dick’s ass and crosses in front of him, shoving his fellow out of the way. “Look at those bruises, he likes this. We might as well give him a good time, right?”</p><p>He takes Dick’s cock in his hand.</p><p>Dick cries out, he can’t help it, slamming his hips back the tiny bit he can.</p><p>“No, no avoiding it, pretty one,” the man says, his voice dark. “You like it rough, we can tell.”</p><p>“No,” Dick says. “No, please.”</p><p>The man squeezes his cock in response, hard at first, too hard, but then easing, starting a slow steady upstroke.</p><p>“Stop it, please,” Dick says, his brain filling with a staticky horror.</p><p>The man laughs cruelly, leaning in closer, getting in Dick’s face.</p><p>Dimly, Dick feels the stirrings of anger inside him, of his whiplash temper, and he grabs it, giving himself enough strength and clarity to spit in the man’s face.</p><p>The man pulls back, growling lowly, but he doesn’t stop jerking Dick’s cock. “Little bitch,” he says. He lifts his other hand and smacks Dick across the temple. Dick cries out, he can’t help it, his brain and body confused, the sting on his face, the heat rising in his cock, the churning horror in his stomach.</p><p>Horrifically, Dick can feel his cock start to twitch, reacting to the stimulation, and he gasps. “No, no, no,” he chants, trembling, hiding his face in his arm again. He can’t breathe, the world around his tunneling in his anxiety.</p><p>“You like it,” the man says. “Admit it.”</p><p>“No,” Dick insists, locking his body, as if he doesn’t move then it won’t get any worse.</p><p>“You’re hard,” the man says, laughing, and Dick chokes on his own breath, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to hide. He is, he’s getting there, and it feels like a betrayal of the worst sort, out of his control and horrifying. “Does daddy like this too?” he asks. “Should we send him a video of his son, letting a stranger jerk him like a whore? Less than a whore, after all, we’re not paying <em>you</em>, are we?”</p><p>Dick can’t help whining. No, god, please, Bruce would be so disappointed in him, disappointed that Dick has lost control of not only the situation but of his own body, that he’s stuck to the wall with a hard cock while Damian is unconscious, sick and hurt. He feels even more of his control break, tears streaking down his face.</p><p>The man coos, disturbing and close. “Aw, I’ve upset you, haven’t I? Are you supposed to save yourself for him? Is that why Bruce Wayne adopts so many little boys?”</p><p>“No,” Dick sobs. “No, he, no.” Bruce would never, he loves them all, takes care of them, he would never hurt Dick this way, would never. He feels himself get angrier, more upset, at the slight to Bruce’s honor, the tears coming faster, his face hot.</p><p>“Gonna come thinking about him?” the man asks. “You’re properly hard now, you know. Leaking.”</p><p>Dick isn’t sure if he is. He can’t tell. His whole body feels flush with humiliation, loose with the drugs. It feels far away from him, like he’s elsewhere. He just wants it to stop, wants the choking feeling in his chest to ease, wants the man to let him go.</p><p>“Are all these marks from him? Or does he share you? Let other people put their marks on your pretty body?”</p><p>“No,” Dick says again, helplessly. He tries shaking his head but his neck feels loose, hard to control. “Please,” he says mindlessly.</p><p>“So polite now,” the man drawls. “What is it you want? Do you want to come?”</p><p>“No,” Dick sobs. He wants…he wants Jason. He wants it to be Jason’s hand, to have Jason’s bulk, warm and safe, draped over him, to have Jason’s stubble rasping against his neck, his hot breath and his dirty words in Dick’s ear. He wants Jason to appear out of nowhere, to put these men on the ground, to take Dick and Damian away, far away.</p><p>He tries to think about that, to think about Jason, maybe it will make this go faster, if he can pretend, if he can convince himself that it’s Jason pressed against him. He closes his eyes and pictures him, pictures Jason’s face, the way he flutters his eyes when he comes, the way his brow scrunches and his mouth goes lax, the little grunts and growls Dick gets to taste. He thinks of how warm Jason is, how he spreads that warmth wherever he touches with his big hands, his strong arms that wrap around Dick so easily, holding him close.</p><p>The next thing he knows he’s getting a backhand to the face, shocking him back into awareness.</p><p>Then he feels the wetness against his stomach and moans in despair, knowing what’s happened. “No, no, no,” he pants, ashamed, humiliated, horrified at himself. “No, I didn’t, I didn’t want-”</p><p>A punch to the gut shuts him up.</p><p>Dick chokes, unable to catch his breath back, unable to help his heaving sobs. He cries out, and is pulled forward, toes skidding across the floor, shoulders straining.</p><p>“You want a turn?”</p><p>Dick blinks his eyes open, trying to see through the tears he can’t control. The question doesn’t make sense, and he sees the man who’d been on him step to the side, but he grabs Dick’s chin and forces his face up, making him look at his fellow, who’s palming himself through his pants.</p><p>Dick shouts and flails badly, thrashing trying to get away. “No, no, no,” he says again. “No, please, no, don’t!”</p><p>The man unzips himself and Dick gags reflexively, trying to get away.</p><p>“Gonna decorate him?” the leader says, and the other man nods, his grin disgusting and excited.</p><p>Dick thrashes some more, panic clawing its way back over the blankness, and gets a sock in the jaw for his trouble.</p><p>He coughs and heaves, a mess of tears and blood now, where he’s bitten through his lip.</p><p>The man is stripping his cock fast, his eyes hungry on Dick’s mess of a face. Dick feels it when he comes, feels the hot splash over his stomach and chest.</p><p>Dick shivers, crying out again, furious and scared, all at once.</p><p>“You’re good fun,” the leader says, cupping Dick’s jaw.</p><p>Dick clicks his mouth shut and tries his best to glare.</p><p>The man chuckles. “I’m not stupid,” he says. “I know better than to get near your teeth.” He takes Dick by the hair and slams his head back into the wall.</p><p>Dick gasps, seeing black spots popping over his vision. He feels like he’s going to vomit, choking and heaving.</p><p>“I think that’s enough for now,” the man says. “Give him the rest.”</p><p>Dick feels the prick at the join of his elbow and then everything goes properly black.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For Whumptober. This chapter hits the prompts for Day 1: Waking up restrained, Day 2: Kidnapped, Day 6: No more, "stop please",  Day 11: Struggling, Defiance, Crying, Day 22: Drugged,  Day 25: Disorientation.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The kidnappers make contact.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jason’s contacts don’t have the info he hopes. He can tell they’re afraid, can tell that the force behind his threats betrays his stress, and he gets many a promise to let him know if any information does appear.</p><p>He gets through three contacts before Oracle calls them again on the line.</p><p>“The kidnappers have contacted Bruce again,” she says. “There’s…there’s a video.”</p><p>Jason’s heart leaps as he pulls his bike over to the side of the road, not trusting himself to be able to drive. It’s a good thing too, because the video that comes up on his HUD shows Dick, bound to some sort of metal wall, with clearly roughly made metal cuffs binding his slack wrists as he dangles, pressure pulling at his shoulders.</p><p>His head is dangling down towards his chest, and fuck, Jason hopes he’s only unconscious.</p><p>The person behind the camera cackles. “Even prettier all beat up, isn’t he?”</p><p>A man crosses in front of the camera. “Mr. Wayne,” he says, in tones of command. “I am not a fool. I know that you will not provide money without assurance that your boys are alive and well.” He laughs too. “Perhaps not so well. But alive.” He has some kind of baton in his hands which he uses to tip Dick’s chin up.</p><p>Jason snarls on instinct.</p><p>Dick’s head is sluggish, flopping. The man steadies it by the hair and puts his baton down so he can pull back Dick’s eyelid. Dick seems to stir at that, at least a little bit, the muscles in his face scrunching as he tries to shut his eye again. His pupils are blown, practically obscuring the bright blue.</p><p>“Say hello to your father,” the man drawls.</p><p>Dick doesn’t speak, but he does try to squint and move his head a bit.</p><p>There a chorus of laughter as the man lets go and Dick’s head drops again.</p><p>“As you can see,” the man says as the camera pans down Dick’s body, “we are taking good care of him.”</p><p>They all laugh again.</p><p>Jason punches the side of the building he’s next to. The lighting is bad, and uneven, but it’s enough to see bruises blossoming across Dick’s bared skin. Jason can feel his anger burning, clawing up inside him, making him want to scream, want to lash out, want to <em>hurt</em>. He can feel himself shaking with the effort it takes to suppress it, especially when the camera pans over Dick’s groin, the shadows are irregular, falling strangely, but they don’t do anything to obscure his soft cock, which also looks brused, and the streaks of white in his pubic hair.</p><p>Jason’s pretty sure he does screech in rage at the sight, and he hears Barbara swearing and Stephanie gasping. The camera pans down farther, showing Dick’s feet, toes scraping at the ground. It sweeps across the floor with the cameraman as he walks over to another body, curled up and chained to the ground. It must be Damian, and the man in charge does the same thing with him, yanking his head back by the hair, and pulling on a shoulder to force the boy to uncurl. “Your little one isn’t doing as well,” he says.</p><p>Damian does look even less conscious than Dick, though he also appears less bruised.</p><p>“Wakey, wakey, little Wayne,” the man sing-songs, slapping at Damian’s cheeks. Damian doesn’t respond, but the camera man moves the lens of the camera up to his nose and mouth. It’s an odd image, but they can see Damian’s breath fogging up the lens.</p><p>“We’ll be contacting you again soon, Mr. Wayne,” the man says before the video goes blank.</p><p>“O, please tell me you got something from that,” Jason growls. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this haze of anger and madness, the remnants of the pit, but he feels it now, feels it creeping up on him, building on his rage. He needs to channel it, somewhere, somehow. His hands curl and uncurl, clenching on nothing. He needs to break something, preferably the hands of the men who had dared to touch Dick.</p><p>“I’m working on it,” Barbara says.</p><p>“Not good enough!” Jason snaps.</p><p>“Don’t yell at her!” Stephanie says. “The signal is strange, bouncing between towers that are too far apart.”</p><p>“Fucking figure it out!” Jason yells. “Aren’t you all supposed to be geniuses or something?”</p><p>“Hood.” Cass’ voice is low and calm on the line.</p><p>Jason inhales harshly through his nose. Out of all of them, Cass is probably the easiest to tolerate, the one he minds butting in the least. He forces himself to<em> think</em>. There’s no way Dick and Damian are anywhere near the gala, the mansion, Wayne Enterprises, or any of its main buildings, or the security systems would be able to ping their trackers. Which rules out a whole section of town. But Jason knows the less savory bits well, even knows the placement of the cell towers.</p><p>“Oracle, can you send me the location of the tower’s they’ve pinged?” he asks.</p><p>It’s hardly a second later that the data arrives up on his HUD. There’s no pattern to the pings, though they’re all within the city limits. And, Jason realizes, they’re not just flashing randomly, but being changed. Needing to hide the location is obvious, but why not ping a single false location? Unless it wouldn’t stay false.</p><p>“They’re moving,” Jason says. “That’s why the locations are changing like this. They must be in a truck or something.”</p><p>“Yes,” Tim says, practically on top of the last half of Jason’s sentence. “Yes, they’re moving, that’s why, of course, they must be in a big vehicle, large enough for all of them and Dick and Damian.”</p><p>“If I get close enough will my trackers help you find them?” Jason asks.</p><p>“Yes,” Barbara says quickly. “Hood, Black Bat, if either of you can get close to them we’ll find them.”</p><p>Jason kicks his bike back into gear and takes off. “Don’t go uptown,” he says. “They can’t be anywhere near a Wayne building.”</p><p>“Agreed,” Barbara says.</p><p>Jason weaves in an out of traffic, breaking traffic laws, but it’s not like it matters. There’s no indication that the road he’s on is anywhere near Dick and Damian though, so he veers off, and tries again, tries the highway, where larger trucks tend to be. He can only feel the anxiety building, the haze that had receded with his realization start to come back.</p><p>“Hood,” Cassandra says. “We’re on a private channel.”</p><p>“What’s wrong?” he asks quickly.</p><p>“Nothing,” she says. “But. I want to say. That we will find them.”</p><p>“What if we’re too late though?” Jason says, before he can help it.</p><p>“We will not be,” Cass says confidently.</p><p>Jason wants to believe her, he does, but finding one truck in all of Gotham, a major city with lots of through traffic, is a lot fucking harder than even the needle in the haystack.</p><p>Cassandra doesn’t say anything further, but Jason can tell that the line is open. It actually helps. Cass is a steady, reassuring presence, like Dick, but quiet and unobtrusive, enough unlike him that it doesn’t make Jason unable to stop comparing them. It helps to think that perhaps Cass is using Jason to give herself some comfort too.</p><p>Jason grits his teeth, rushing down another avenue. He has some…specialty supplies still locked away. All of Jason’s guns are modified, customized, but behind lock and key, beyond even the layers of security around his safe house is one of his older ones. It had been his favorite, back when he used real bullets, and even after he’d moved towards rubber bullets and pellets, he’d kept it.</p><p>It still feels good in his hand, grip worn to Jason’s hand, the weight familiar, even after all this time. He takes the ammo out as well, loads it. Six bullets into the chamber before clicking the safety on and sliding it into his waistband. Maybe he shouldn’t bring the temptation with him, but it calms him to have it. Jason will do far worse things than kill for Dick.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Things pick up in a warehouse.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning in this chapter for: vomiting, graphic description of burning, and the memory, mention, and threat of sexual assault/violence.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dick next becomes aware again as he being dragged across a harsh stone floor, the rough concrete dragging at his bare skin enough to rouse him. He tries to kick, tries to squirm away from the hands holding him, but he’s too weakened, and a rod makes painful contact with his ribs. Dick groans and folds himself over them.</p><p>Curled in on himself, he blinks his eyes open and tries to get his bearings. The ground beneath his body is cold and harsh, the footsteps of his captors echoing. Probably a warehouse of some kind. There’s the thud of another body and Dick lifts himself enough to see, even though it makes his ribs ache.</p><p>That hardly matters though, when he sees Damian, twitching weakly on the ground.</p><p>“Damian,” he shouts. “Damian!”</p><p>The men standing around them laugh while Damian continues to twitch.</p><p>Dick feels like he’s suffocating. Damian looks so small, naked and curled on the ground his body twitching. It looks horrifically like a seizure.</p><p>“Fuck, did you dumbasses drop him on his fucking head?” one of the men asks.</p><p>Dick tries to inch closer to Damian, dragging his own battered body across the unforgiving stone as much as he can.</p><p>Damian keeps twitching, soft choking sounds coming out of his throat.</p><p>“He’s choking,” Dick realizes. “Roll him over!” he demands, voice cold and commanding. “He’s fucking choking on his own vomit!”</p><p>“Shut up,” one of the men says, kicking Dick in the ribs.</p><p>It hurts, but Dick doesn’t care at all. “Do you want a dead fucking hostage?” he asks. “Do you think Bruce Wayne will pay you for his dead son?”</p><p>“Probably,” one of the men says cruelly. “What the fuck else’s he got to do with his money?”</p><p>Another man though, probably the one in charge, strides over to Damian and rolls him to his side with the toe of his boot.</p><p>It’s cruel and needlessly degrading, but once on his side bile dribbles out of Damian’s mouth as his chokes slowly turn into coughs.</p><p>Dick’s hands and feet are still bound, but he manages to scootch himself closer a bit before a boot on his back knocks his face into the ground.</p><p>Dick grunts, feeling his nose shift, feels the blood start to pour from it. Damn it, now he’s a whole fucking mess. He picks his head up, spitting any of the blood that gets into his mouth out, focused solely on Damian. He’s stopped twitching, and Dick can see the rise and fall of his chest, shallow but there.</p><p>It makes him angry.</p><p>“Fuckers,” he growls. “What kind of kidnappers are you? Don’t know how to regulate your doses for a child?”</p><p>“You shut up!” someone snaps, kicking Dick again.</p><p>Dick growls at them, and gets a baton to the temple for the trouble.</p><p>It leaves him gasping, resting his head against the bloody stone beneath him, gasping, trying to hang on to consciousness.</p><p>“You’re a real bitch aren’t you?”</p><p>Dick’s disoriented enough that he’s lost track of who the speakers are, where they are around him, which isn’t good. He needs to know, needs to not be surprised when he tries to escape.</p><p>Before he can think any farther though, he’s being hauled up on to his feet.</p><p>“Tie him up.”</p><p><em>That must be the leader</em>, Dick thinks dizzily, <em>if he’s giving the orders</em>. “Damian,” he croaks.</p><p>“Damian!” one of the men squeals in a mocking voice.</p><p>Dick tries to kick out at him, but his limbs are still too sluggish from the drugs.</p><p>“Such a bitch,” someone says, voice dark and low, before there’s a fist to Dick’s gut.</p><p>Dick exhales with it. This is fine, he can take a punch or two. If there’s one thing almost two decades of crime fighting have given him, it’s the ability to take a beating. He has the experience for it, the endurance, far more than Damian at least, still so young, fragile in the way all growing things are.</p><p>Dick doesn’t have enough strength to actually fight the men dragging him backwards, but he still tries to struggle. As he does, another man grabs his flailing leg and yanks it up off the ground. Good. The more men they think they need to subdue Dick the fewer men to be focused on Damian.</p><p>He’s shoved against some kind of standing board, arms spread out and pinned, like a butterfly, giving him no leverage to struggle with as they’re one by one lifted above his head and restrained. Once again, the restraints feel homemade, but Dick thinks it’s a bad thing. They definitely don’t feel weak, and the edges are harsh, sharp, uncomfortable. One wrong twist and he could easily sever the delicate arteries in his wrists. They seem to be adjustable too, probably cuffs on a length of chain, because they’re jerked higher, and higher, until Dick’s feet are dangling off the ground.</p><p>It’s an excoriating experience for the shoulders, and Dick mentally starts preparing himself for escaping with his arms dislocated. It will be fine. He knows how to shove his shoulders back into the joints.</p><p>“Restrain the kid,” man who is probably in charge, says.</p><p>Dick watches them grab Damian, trying to make his eyes seem more hooded and less focused than he really is, as if he’s unaccustomed to being hit in the skull and still reeling from it.</p><p>Damian still looks to be mostly out of it, head and extremities dangling limply as he’s dragged closer to Dick and cuffed at the wrists and ankles. He could be faking, like Dick, and he’s probably exaggerating at least somewhat, but Dick has the horrifying feeling that Damian is still at least partially out of it. At least he hasn’t been restrained like Dick. Damian can get around being cuffed, easy, they all can.</p><p>They drop Damian to collapse on the ground like a sack, and Dick can’t help snarling.</p><p>One of the men clicks his tongue. “Such a fighter,” he says. Then, “Fucking’ annoying,” and kicks Dick in the kneecap.</p><p>Dick’s leg spasms and he gasps through the pain. It hurts, definitely, but he doesn’t think his leg is broken. And it just needs to hold him in a dash for freedom.</p><p>There’s quite a bit of scraping going on around him, the thugs moving things around, but Dick keeps his eyes on Damian, watching the rise and fall of his chest. He sees Damian’s hands twitch where they’re bound behind him, then his wrists try to rotate.</p><p>Dick tries hard to not to react, even as his chest flutters with hope. Damian’s awake, and testing his bonds.</p><p>“What are you guys doing?” he asks, turning his attention to the men around him, trying to hold their attention in return.</p><p>One of them grins at him, a nasty grin, full of unfriendly teeth. “Got something special for you,” he says.</p><p>“Oh?” Dick says. “I must say, I’m not such a fan of surprises. You should probably just tell me what my present is.”</p><p>He gets smacked in the face for his lip, but it’s not as hard as previous hits. “You get told to shut the fuck up a lot?” the man says.</p><p>“Never,” Dick lies. He gets another fist in the gut but he’s more focused on the wash of heat beside him. He looks and sees that the men have dragged over a brazier, and have lit it. Dick watches the flames lick up it, and watches the man who he thinks to be the leader stick some metal pokers in the flames.</p><p>Dick swallows hard and tries not to get nervous about what that probably means. He can take it, he can, as long as those pokers don’t go anywhere near Damian.</p><p>“Roasting marshmallows?” he says instead.</p><p>One of the thugs smacks him again. “Do you think you’re funny? Or are you just stupid?”</p><p>Dick tries to give him one of his winning grins. It’s made a bit easier, because out of the corner of his eye, Dick sees Damian start sit up, just a little, getting his hands to a place where he can use them to start moving. Dick very carefully doesn’t look at him. “Well, I always did well in school,” he says.</p><p>He gets another smack.</p><p>It’s still not brain rattling hard, but it is the third hit in a short amount of time, and Dick is already a bit fuzzy from the drugs. He groans.</p><p>“We have a lot of plans for you,” the leader says, idly stoking the brazier.</p><p>“I thought I mentioned that I didn’t like surprises,” Dick says.</p><p>“Oh, you said you were a smart boy,” the man drawls. “I’m sure you can guess what these are for.”</p><p>“Well I don’t see any graham crackers,” Dick begins.</p><p>“Would you stop fuckin’ talking?” one of the men snaps. The next blow comes to Dick’s jaw, and he feels his teeth cut into the skin of his cheek. Before he can fully recover from it, his head jerks in the opposite direction with a quick pop to the temple again.</p><p>He hands his head and gasps, spitting out the blood, trying to blink the black spots out of his vision.</p><p>“Mother<em>fucker</em>,” someone says from above him. Dick can hear the commotion around him, and he lifts his head up as much as he can to see.</p><p>His stomach drops. One man is running over to Damian, and the another is already there, grabbing Damian up by the forearm.</p><p>Damian is snarling and twisting against his hold, clearly spitting mad.</p><p> “Nu-uh, little Wayne,” the second man says, grabbing Damian by the hair.</p><p>Damian growls and kicks back at him.</p><p>The man simply wrestles him around to face Dick, and Dick realizes horrifyingly that he intends to use them against each other.</p><p>Damian seems to come to the same realization, his eyes going wide. “Don’t,” he says.</p><p>The man holding him just laughs. “Watch, little Wayne, see what happens when you misbehave.”</p><p>Dick is braced for it, but the hot poker being stabbed into his side, just above his left hip, is excruciating. He bites through his lip trying not to scream, but he ends up screaming anyways, trying to focus on anything but the sensation in his side.</p><p>“No!” he hears Damian shriek. “Stop it! I will not escape again, stop!”</p><p>Dick so desperately wants to reassure him, wants to tell Damian that it’s fine, he can take it, but all he can do is cry out, locking his body so his thrashing doesn’t make anything worse.</p><p>Finally, finally, ages later, the poker is removed. Dick sags against his bonds, trying not to start sobbing.</p><p>“Grayson!” Damian yells. “Grayson!”</p><p>“Shut up, you little bitch.”</p><p>A smack of flesh brings Dicks head up and his attention back. He sees Damain, still held in the grip of one thug, glaring at another one even through what is rapidly becoming a black eye.</p><p>“Hey, tough guy,” Dick jeers, trying to draw their attention. Nothing they do to him could possibly be worse than watching them hurt Damian. “Does it feel good to beat up on a little kid?” Dick scoffs. “What a big, strong guy you are.”</p><p>The man turns to him, clearly furious. Dick takes his next strike with a rush of relief, because it’s across his stomach and not Damians.</p><p>“No!” he hears Damian shout.</p><p>“Damian!” Dick snaps, letting his voice take on the kind of command he uses in the field. “Quiet.” He hates ordering Damian around, <em>hates</em> it, doesn’t ever want to manipulate his brother that way, but he needs the men to keep their attention off of him.</p><p>The men laugh, but it’s a small price to pay for keeping their hands off of Damian.</p><p>“See, even your brother doesn’t like your screechin’,” one of them drawls.</p><p>Damian’s eyes are wide when he looks at Dick, pupils blown by the drugs. Dick’s heart lurches at the look on his face. “I’ve got this,” he promises.</p><p>The men start laughing again and Damian snarls at them. Dick prays that they can both keep their temper long enough for someone to find them. He has no idea where they are, or how far they’ve been taken, but unless he’s more disoriented and has lost more time than he thought they have to still be in Gotham, Metropolis at the very least. Well within range of Bruce.</p><p>“Chain the kid back up,” the man in charge orders. His voice is calmer, less gleeful than the others.</p><p>When the men steps in front of Dick, and Dick can clearly see his face, he remembers which one he is. He feels his stomach churn at the memory and god, but he hopes this man doesn’t touch him again. Something of his thoughts must show on his face, because the man chuckles.</p><p>Damian snarls and thrashes against the men who are trying to drag him over to one of the stronger beams.</p><p>The man clicks his tongue disprovingly and holds his knife to Dick’s throat.</p><p>Damian freezes, scowling darkly. Dick holds very still.</p><p>“You’ll behave now, Damian, won’t you?” the man asks, his voice low and sweet and sick. He trails his knife down, scratching a line down Dick’s throat and across his chest, until he taps the flat of the blade against Dick’s nipple. “There’s much more I can do to your brother,” he promises darkly.</p><p>Damian remains still, even as his chest heaves and his eyes narrow.</p><p>“Well?” the man asks.</p><p>Damian, still scowling and glaring, nods.</p><p>“Say it, you stupid little Wayne bitch,” the man holding Damian growls, giving him a shake.</p><p>The leader clicks his tongue again and slashes.</p><p>The cut is controlled, not deep, but blood still starts pouring from Dick’s chest.</p><p>Dick jerks instinctively, hearing Damian cry out again.</p><p>“I’m fine!” Dick pants.</p><p>“So brave,” the man coos, pressing himself against Dick’s side, speaking right in his ear.</p><p>Dick fights the urge to vomit.</p><p>“So strong for your baby brother, aren’t you?”</p><p>Dick ignores him and focuses on breathing through his nose.</p><p>“We’ll see how brave you are,” the man says, voice still a sticky kind of sweet.</p><p>It makes Dick shiver.</p><p>Across the floor, he can see the muscle in Damian’s jaw jump with the effort of remaining clenched.</p><p>Dick braces himself again.</p><p>The next strike of the poker is against his ribs. It’s held long enough that Dick can hear his flesh start to sear, can smell it burning. He clenches his own jaw, grits his teeth. There’s no use in screaming, not yet, Bruce had taught him that. He just hopes that Damian remembers the same lesson, that he doesn’t do anything to grab their attention.”</p><p>“Stop, stop it!” Damian is saying. His voice sounds very far away, beyond the ringing in Dick’s ears and the hissing of his skin. “I will do as you say, stop it!”</p><p>The rush of cool air against Dick’s burnt flesh is at once a relief and a torture all of its own. He tries to swallow down his whimper.</p><p>“There we go,” the man says. “I think we all understand each other now, don’t we?”</p><p>Dick glares at him, and he knows without looking that Damian is doing the same thing.</p><p>“What was that?” the man asks. He lifts the poker again, hovering it over Dick’s skin, so he can feel the heat but not the burn. He draws it along the line of Dick’s hip, inching it closer to his groin and his soft cock.</p><p>Dick’s heart leaps into his throat and in panic he tries desperately to slam his hips back and out of the way. “No,” he gasps before he can stop himself.</p><p>“No!” Damian’s shout is louder, more desperate. “I understand, we understand!”</p><p>The man chuckles and looks into Dick’s eyes. “Well then,” he says. “I suppose we’ll have some fun.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jason has a few conversations.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been three hours, and Jason is starting to get even more agitated. Running through the city hasn’t yielded any results. He can’t help but feel that what they’re doing is completely, utterly pointless, that they’re wasting time, that every second he spends running around Gotham like a fucking idiot is one more second that Dick is spending in the hands of people who clearly want to hurt him. If he closes his eyes for too long, he can still see the bruising on and around Dick’s cock. It’s too much to hold inside, and he ends up punching more than one wall.</p><p>The comms are a low murmur, almost background noise, but it’s <em>constant</em>. No one’s turned up anything useful, of course, but there’s plenty of people chiming in. Dick is popular, and everyone who knows that he and Nightwing are one and the same seems to have called with offers to help. Barbara is coordinating everything, but Jason has blocked it out. It’s annoying, aggravating, grating on his already frayed nerves.</p><p>A few people have contacted Jason directly, Roy has pinged his comm at least six times, and Kory has pinged him twice too. He’s ignored them both. He can’t stand to deal with anyone who loves Dick the way he does. Can’t even think about it.</p><p>In the deep, dark parts of his heart, lashing in pain, he kind of wishes <em>he </em>didn’t love Dick either. It would hurt so much fucking less if he didn’t, if he could just not feel this way.</p><p>Red Hood has contacts in the Gotham underbelly, of course he does. The problem is, any kidnappers that Jason might have stopped previously he’s put six feet under the ground. They’re all dead ends. Literally. Red Hood doesn’t deal with idiots, or shitbags, and everyone knows he doesn’t fuck with kids. Anyone dumb enough to go after the Wayne kids has kept their distance.</p><p>He climbs up one of the large buildings, surveying the city below. Dick and Damian are almost certainly on the ground, but being up on the rooftops is nice; it gives him a view of multiple streets at once, and it’s what he was trained to do. Get high. It’s the bat’s way. But it does have a frustrating lack of walls to hit.</p><p>Jason’s reduced to flexing his fists, gloves creaking with how hard he’s clenching them.</p><p>His comm pings again, but it’s not the vigilante group chat, it’s Red Hood’s channel. Jason sighs and tries to reign in his temper, even using the stupid breathing exercises his therapists and Dick have insisted on. He supposes he does technically run some kind of criminal enterprise, even if it’s only a few guys he’s helped out and who have decided to help him out in return.</p><p>He owes it to them to accept it.</p><p>“Boss.”</p><p>Jason knows all of his men even just by voice. The one calling is named Brian. Well, he goes by Brian. His real name is Justin Albright, and he’s got a kid he usually spends his day with. But if he wants to be “Brian” on the job Jason can understand that.</p><p>“What’s happened,” he asks flatly.</p><p>“I’m checking out downtown,” Brian says. “Ryan’s got the north, and Manny’s down south. El’s on their way east.”</p><p>“For what?” Jason asks, mentally mapping it out.</p><p>“The Waynes,” Brian says, “of course. Figured you’d be in on that effort.”</p><p>Jason bites back some sort of noise that wants to escape, a sigh, a grunt, he’s not sure. Officially, none of them know how involved Jason is with the bats, or that he used to be one of them. But Jason would be surprised if his close men hadn’t guessed about his…relationship to Nightwing, and if they hadn’t guessed about some sort of connection between the bats and the Waynes then they’re far too stupid to work for him. “Tell El that Black Bat is covering the east too. She’ll be friendly.” Cass isn’t the type to spurn extra help when they need it, and she’s not one to start to preaching to El about giving up a life of crime.</p><p>“Got it,” Brian says. “We’ll let you know if we get anything. If you find them first call us for backup.”</p><p>“Don’t got shit right now,” Jason grumbles.</p><p>“The city is crawling with capes,” Brian says. “Not just the bat force.”</p><p>Jason snorts at the name. <em>Bat force</em>. Bruce’s eye would twitch.</p><p>“The Waynes are too high profile, anyone stupid enough to go after them and not immediately jump on a plane are dumb enough to get caught.”</p><p>“Don’t underestimate them,” Jason says. “These are some nasty fucks.”</p><p>“Noted,” Brian says, his voice even. “I’ll keep you updated.”</p><p>“…Thanks,” Jason manages through a tight throat.</p><p>It’s good that he has help, he reminds himself. As much as he wants to take Dick and their relationship and hide it all away from the world, it’s impractical, and Dick wouldn’t appreciate it. And the more eyes looking for Dick and Damian now the better.</p><p>Jason tips his head back. He wishes he could take the helmet off, just to breathe in the sharp air, the wind of it so high up. It’s the one thing he lets himself miss about being Robin: the wind in his hair, on his face.</p><p>He tips his head back forward and takes several running steps before throwing himself off the roof. He catches the fire escape of the building across from it and swings up it, hauling himself up onto another roof. He looks out across the city, trying to think. Hundreds of cars creep along the streets, lights bright in the night. Any one of them could have Dick inside, strung up and hurting. Or they could be stationary now, hidden somewhere in one of the many nondescript buildings. The not knowing is making Jason jittery. Makes it hard for him to focus.</p><p>His comm rings once fucking more and he considers taking the helmet off again, this time so he can rip the communications unit out of it for some fucking peace and quiet. But then he notices that it’s Bruce. Well, Batman. He answers it, confusion and dread warring inside him. “Hello?”</p><p>“It’s me.”</p><p>“I know,” Jason says.</p><p>Batman is silent on the other end of the line.</p><p>“What?” Jason snaps, getting annoyed.</p><p>“You stopped responding,” Batman says.</p><p>“To what? The chatter?” Jason asks, confused. He’s not sure why Bruce would care about which communication channel he was on, as long as he’s not disconnected.</p><p>“Did you find something?”</p><p>“No,” Jason says, still confused. So confused that he’s starting to get annoyed. “Listen, I would say somethin’ if I got somethin’, you know? I wouldn’t be an asshole about this.”</p><p>“I know,” Batman says. “He is important. To you.”</p><p>Jason’s stomach flips. <em>Bruce knows</em>, he thinks, horrifyingly. Then immediately he wonders if he’s being too paranoid. Bruce isn’t exactly saying much. “What are you trying to say?” Jason asks. The voice modulator was definitely his best idea.</p><p>“He is important to me too,” Batman says.</p><p>Jason sighs. There’s always extra meaning in what Bruce says. “Look, you can relax, or whatever. I’m not about to go crazy and fuck this up. Working with the team right now.”</p><p>“Your help is appreciated,” Batman says, which is the most confusing thing yet, especially since Jason hasn’t even done anything yet. None of them have. Fucking passive aggressive bastard.</p><p>“It’s not my fault we haven’t found anything yet,” Jason sneers down the line.</p><p>Batman sighs, audibly. “You figured out the truck,” he says, voice flat. “That was good work.”</p><p>“Thank you?” Jason says, uncertain what Bruce wants from him if it’s not to lecture or warn him about losing his temper.</p><p>“I thought you should know,” Batman says, and it’s stiff, but more in the awkward way Bruce has when he’s trying to confront an emotion than the terseness that Batman is so famous for.</p><p>“Know <em>what</em>?” Jason can feel himself ping-ponging between anger and confusion, unable to get a suitable handle on either one.</p><p>“There is no need to take any risks,” Batman says.</p><p>“Didn’t I just say I wouldn’t fuck this up?” Jason snaps, settling on anger.</p><p>“That is not what I meant.”</p><p>“Then what <em>did </em>you mean?”</p><p>“Exactly what I said.”</p><p>Jason sighs.</p><p>Batman grunts.</p><p>They’re both silent, the slight hum of an open line between them.</p><p>Jason remains where he is for a few seconds, still confused, still pissed. Eventually he forces himself to take a breath and keep moving. So what if he has the hint of Bruce’s presence in his ear. There was a time when that had been normal, when he had spent all his time with the shadow of Bruce surrounding him. He tries not think about what it means that Bruce is choosing to remain on the line with him, with Jason, instead of switching back over to the main comm line. He probably just has both open. Probably.</p><p>But it means that Jason hears it when Bruce swears under his breath, suddenly, out of nowhere.</p><p>“B?” he says, stopping mid-step.</p><p>“I have another video,” Bruce says, and Jason hears his voice wobble.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Things continue to get worse.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings ahead for mutilation and repeated threat of sexual assault.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dick is yanked higher by the chains on his wrists, someone must be behind the board that he’s strapped to, manipulating them. He grunts as he’s moved, but doesn’t struggle. It would be fruitless at this point, nothing but a waste of energy.</p><p>Damian is staring at him, eyes wide. He looks so <em>young</em>, so vulnerable, so unlike the stoic solider, it hurts Dick’s heart to look at him. But he does, because Damian needs the reassurance of his gaze.</p><p>The head goon is chuckling, swinging the poker in his hand, idle, but controlled.</p><p>“What should we do with you, pretty Wayne, huh?” one of the men asks, outright leering at Dick.</p><p>Dick tries to grin back at him. He can taste blood in his mouth from his cheek and his lip, sure that his teeth are stained with it. “You think I’m pretty?” he says, knowing he’s pressing his luck. “Flatterer.”</p><p>The punch to the gut is not unexpected. The jab of a hot poker, right into his kidneys, is both precise and excruciating.</p><p>Dick screams and tries to thrash on instinct.</p><p>The men around him laugh.</p><p>“Stop it!” Damian says.</p><p>“I thought you were gonna shut the fuck up!” one of the men says, backhanding him.</p><p>Dick whistles through his teeth to grab their attention. “You sure do seem to think that beating on a kid is impres-” He grunts when he gets a punch to his solar plexus.</p><p>He misses the impact absorbing materials of his suit desperately.</p><p>His heart pounds and his lungs work to catch up to the breath he’s lost.</p><p>One of the men grabs his face.</p><p>Dick scowls and prepares to spit on him, but the man keeps his distance.</p><p>“What’s the face for?” he asks. “You had plenty of fun with us earlier.” He chuckles darkly and lifts Dick’s left knee.</p><p>Dick’s breath stalls and he shivers, swallowing hard.</p><p>“What’s the matter?” the man asks, lifting Dick’s leg even higher, exposing him. “You don’t want to have more fun?”</p><p>Dick’s brain goes staticky, realizing what the man intends. <em>No</em>, he thinks desperately. He can’t go through that again. At least he’s not drugged this time, his brain clear enough for a mix of both panic and training to guide him. The panic tells him to get away, at any cost, and his training tells him to take advantage of his leg being withing striking distance of the man’s face.</p><p>Dick kicks.</p><p>He doesn’t have the best leverage, but his foot still connects with the man’s nose with an extremely satisfying crunch.</p><p>The man lets go of Dick’s leg and staggers back, clutching his bleeding nose.</p><p>While the goons around him are all too shocked to think about making another grab for Dick, he kicks off the board he’s strapped to, hauling himself up with his hands wrapped tight around the chains he’s dangling from. His shoulders and his arms burn in protest but he puts it aside, using the momentum from his legs to flip himself heels over head, until he lands crouched on top of the board.</p><p>Dick knows from long experience that acrobatics tend to confuse people when they’re not expecting it. It works here too; the men gape up at him, no one thinking to reach up and grab him.</p><p>It’s more than enough time for them to be further distracted by a howl of pain from their fellow, standing a few feet behind.</p><p>“Little fucker broke my foot!” the man screams, writhing on the ground while Damian darts away.</p><p>One of the others, the one who’s closest, makes a grab for Damian’s arm, but pulls his hand back with a yelp when Damian, ready, sinks his teeth into it.</p><p>Dick’s muscles are aching, protesting his maintained position. Gravity is pulling him forward and down, and he can only counteract it with tension in his muscles and chains for so long. The problem is the cuffs. Without them he could flip over the back of the board and just make a break for it, but they’re too strong for him to snap.</p><p>And the metal is rough; Dick can feel it scraping against his skin as he tries to twist his hand, tries to find a weak spot. Damian is still causing a good distracting amount of chaos, too fast for anyone to catch.</p><p>Dick takes the opportunity to jump over the top of board, pulling the chains taught as he dangles down the back now. It’s not particularly advantageous, but he’s out of sight, and it gives him a few vital seconds to think. He’s not getting out of this particular cuff set up, the metal is too strong. Which means he needs keys, or a pick, or something strong enough to break the chain.</p><p>He twists himself around so he can take a look out at the warehouse. Most of the action seems to be going on behind him, everyone distracted by Damian’s chaos, but the place is large, and has many rooms connected to it, which is bad. There’s no way of knowing what’s behind those doors, and sure enough, as Dick watches, one of them bursts open and five more guys come running out.</p><p>Two of them head for Damian and his commotion, but the other three eye Dick and make their way over to him.</p><p>Dick prepares himself.</p><p>The first guy reaches him and Dick hauls himself up the chains again, until he’s high enough that he can wrap his legs around the man’s neck.</p><p>He drops his weight down onto where his legs are crossed around the man’s throat and squeezes.</p><p>The man makes choking noises and starts scrabbling at Dick’s legs with his nails, but Dick ignores it.</p><p>His buddies are shocked enough that they’ve stopped several feet away, guns hanging down in their hands.</p><p>“Fu-let me-go,” the man gasps.</p><p>Dick squeezes his thighs tighter. “Gimme your gun,” he says, “and I’ll let you go.”</p><p>It would probably work better if he was capable of the kind of deep growl Bruce and Jason are, but he hopes that his muscles are convincing enough on their own.</p><p>“Don’t-got-one,” the man gasps.</p><p>“Really?” Dick scoffs. “You came out here without a weapon?”</p><p>“Kn-knife.”</p><p>“Give it to me,” Dick commands. “And no fucking tricks,” he warns as the man’s hand goes to his pocket.</p><p>He does pull out a switchblade, and he wisely keeps it shut as he shakily raises it.</p><p>Dick contorts himself to take the knife in his mouth, and then again to bring it up to his fist.</p><p>He squeezes harder, until he feels the man goes lax beneath him. He’s just unconscious; Dick can still feel the pulse in his neck.</p><p>He drops him, keeping a close eye on the other two men.</p><p>They’re both gaping at him.</p><p>Dick keeps eyeing them even as he hauls himself up the chains once more, scrabbling against the board with his feet, trying to work the knife into the lock on one of the cuffs. He’s just starting to get it when a gunshot rings out through the space.</p><p>“Fuck,” Dick says, staring at one of the men in front of him. His gun’s gone off on the ground, and he looks surprised about it, as does his fellow. Unfortunately, it grabs the attention of the rest of the men, who come around the board.</p><p>The leader growls and stalks toward Dick.</p><p>Dick kicks out at him and he gets a solid one off on the man’s jaw to make him stumble back.</p><p>“Kurt. Robert,” the man growls.</p><p>Two large men stomp forward and Dick tries to fight them off, but he has only two legs and the men have four hands between them, and they’re able to grab Dick’s flailing ankles.</p><p>Dick thrashes against their hold, making them work for it.</p><p>The leader has a gun in hand and he’s stepping back up into Dick’s space.</p><p>Dick glares at him.</p><p>“You’re quite the problem,” he says.</p><p>Dick grunts. “Been told that before,” he says, trying to smile.</p><p>The man’s responding grin makes Dick shiver. It’s cruel, malicious, inescapable. “I think I’ve had enough of it,” he says coldly. He places a cold hand on Dick’s left ankle holding it still, and presses his gun into the bottom of Dick’s foot.</p><p>Dick goes very, very still. Surely he wouldn’t…</p><p>The cocking of the gun sounds loud in the sudden silence as Dick holds his breath, adrenaline preemptively surging through him. Then he’s screaming, unimaginable pain blowing through his foot and ankle.</p><p>Dick’s been shot before, plenty of times. And he’s been shot both at close range and in areas where he wasn’t protected by armor, but never like this. Dick can feel that the bones in his leg have shattered from the shockwave of the bullet to mention the damage the bullet itself has done.</p><p>He thinks it distantly, almost clinically, trying not to think about how it’s his body that’s undergone this, his foot that’s fucked. He bites hard into his lip, trying to breath, trying not to cry, not in front of these men. But, fuck, it’ll be a miracle if he still has a foot. God he hopes he still has a foot.</p><p>There’s blood trickling down his chin, warm and thick. He feels the sting where he’s bitten through his lip late. He doesn’t even notice that he’s crying until he tastes it, tears bright and salty in his mouth. He screws up his eyes against them and bites his lip even harder, uncaring of mangling his lip.</p><p>He feels cold, so cold, and somewhere in his brain, he knows that it’s shock and adrenaline setting in. He’s probably shaking. But he can’t feel it, can’t feel anything beyond the brain whiting pain in his leg. His chest feels tight and he tries to suck in breath through his nose, around his teeth where they’re sunk into his lip.</p><p>“Now, be fuckin’ still,” the leader growls.</p><p>Dick can’t imagine moving, it’s taking all his effort just to remain still, trembling, breathing, fighting against the urge to throw up. It’s not even dark behind his eyelids, it looks red, bright lights popping in his vision as he tries to stay conscious. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to check, see if he still has his left foot.</p><p>Everything seems to echo around him, the slosh of water, clicks of pipes and electricity, the murmur of voices around him. There’s a dripping sound, thick and slow, and Dick tries to convince himself that something is leaking, that it’s not his mangled foot dripping onto the ground.</p><p>“Bring me the other kid,” the leader says, voice still low and controlled.</p><p>His voice makes Dick flinch, loud and echoing. “Leave-leave Damian alone,” Dick manages to pant, drawing himself up from where he’s sunken into his own consciousness, clinging to the awareness his worry brings him. It doesn’t matter what’s happened to him, he still needs to protect Damian.</p><p>“Stop that,” the man commands, back handing Dick across the face.</p><p>It hardly registers against the rest of the pain. Dick sways with it, drained and dizzy.</p><p>He hears Damian, his voice echoing in the warehouse, snapping and snarling and cussing as someone drags him over.</p><p>Dick finds a small smile still in him, pride distracting him.</p><p>“Grayson!” Damian’s shriek carries. “No, what did you do to him!”</p><p>“F-fine,” Dick tries to pant.</p><p>Around him people laugh, and Damian’s voice softens. “Grayson, hey! Stay awake!”</p><p>“Yes, stay awake, pretty little Wayne boy,” the leader croons. “Got to say hi to daddy don’t we?”</p><p>Dick blinks his eyes clear and tries to focus on the man in front of him. He has a camera out, pointed at Dick’s face.</p><p>“Grayson!” Damian says again. “Look at me.”</p><p>Dick tries to obey, eyes searching. Damian is held between the two large men that had grabbed Dick earlier. He’s trashing, making them work to hold him, his teeth bared in a snarl. “Grayson, hey,” he says.</p><p>The man swings the camera over to Damian. “Your children are so mouthy, Mr. Wayne. It appears to me that you have forgotten to teach them manners.”</p><p>Damian growls a little. “Fuck you,” he snaps.</p><p>“This one particularly likes to whine,” the man says. “Someone shut him up.”</p><p>One of the goons standing around takes the opportunity to prove himself, socking Damian in the jaw. Damian moves with it like the pro he is, and then spits at one of the men who is holding him.</p><p>“Behave,” the man snaps. “You’ve seen what we do to your brother when you don’t.”</p><p>“No, don’t,” Damian says, fast, frantically, eyes wide.</p><p>Everyone, including the camera, swings back to look at Dick.</p><p>Dick pants and glares as best he can.</p><p>“Say hi to Daddy Wayne,” the man repeats.</p><p>“No,” Dick says.</p><p>“Come on now, be a good boy.”</p><p>“Fuck you,” Dick pants.</p><p>The man clicks his tongue. Dick trembles, rage penetrating through the haze in his brain.</p><p>“I’ve been trying to teach your boys manners,” the man continues. “But it looks like he still hasn’t learned his lesson.” He pans the camera down Dick’s body and Dick closes his eyes again, refuses to follow it down, to look. He can’t know. He can’t.</p><p>“The longer you wait to send me my money, Mr. Wayne, the more time I get to spend with your sons. You’re only getting one back, but I can make it quick for the other one. If you want to pick, you better send me the ten million I asked for.”</p><p>Dick opens his eyes again, searching for Damian.</p><p>Damian looks furious, continuing to struggle, trying to kick out the legs of the men holding him.</p><p>The man sighs. “Knock them out,” he says.</p><p>Another man approaches, syringe in hand. He grabs Damian first, tilting his head to the side.</p><p>“Dami,” Dick croaks.</p><p>Damian fights even as the drug works through his system, his struggles getting slower, weaker, as he tries to fight it, until, eventually, he stills.</p><p>“No,” Dick says.</p><p>“Oh, shut up,” the man snaps. “It’s your turn.”</p><p>Dick is hardly aware of being pricked before everything goes black.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It really will get better I promise! Jason is on his way.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jason's control fluctuates.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jason comes back to himself with his fist through a window. He has no memory of getting down from the room, onto the street, doesn’t remember punching the window either, but there’s glass cascading down around his fist and arm, plinking off his armor.</p>
<p>He flexes his fist a few times before pulling his arm back through.</p>
<p>He’s not even bleeding. Unlike Dick who had been, thick blood dripping from what should have been a foot…</p>
<p>Jason’s fist is in the brick next, hard enough to dent. He hits it again, and again, <em>thud thud thud</em>. He can feel his knuckles bruising, splitting even beneath his gloves. He keeps hitting, chipping away at the brick, the impacts traveling all the way up his arm.</p>
<p><em>Thud thud thud</em>.</p>
<p>It hurts. It’s good, chips away at the haze that leaves Jason seeing red, nothing but red.</p>
<p>There’s chatter exploding all over the line, voices, voices everywhere, voices in his head, voices in his comm, but Jason shoves them out, listening to the roaring of his blood, the pounding of his fist.</p>
<p>
  <em>Thud thud thud.</em>
</p>
<p>There’s a mix in his head, calls, orders, variations on his name. It’s all a blur.</p>
<p>“Jay! Can you hear me? I need you to listen, Jay.”</p>
<p>Bruce’s deep baritone cuts through the commotion in Jason’s head and shocks him enough that he pauses with his fist still in the wall.</p>
<p>It’s odd. He’s been called a lot of things, “Todd” (by Damian, by Tim when he gets annoyed), “Jaybird” (by Dick and even Roy when he’s in a teasing mood), not to mention the name he gets in the field: “Red” and “Hood” and all sorts of jokes from Roy about “Little Red” and “Riding Hood”. Once upon a time he’d been called “Robin”. But the easiest, the most obvious shortening of his name, “Jay” only two people ever use.</p>
<p>Dick. And Bruce.</p>
<p>Jason can’t remember the last time Bruce had called him “Jay”. It brings him up short, the realization that he has to delve into the murky recollections of his life before to remember that name, said in that tone. “Bruce,” he gasps, his own voice wobbling, feeling uncertain.</p>
<p>“Breathe, Jason,” Bruce says, his voice deep and calming. It pricks at something in Jason’s memory, from that long ago, of being comforted by that exact voice. Had Bruce ever been so gentle with him? He can’t remember.</p>
<p>“I am breathing,” he ends up mumbling.</p>
<p>“Good,” Bruce says, which actually just makes Jason stop breathing. The praise feels awkward, unearned, confusing. Especially from Bruce. “Jason?” Bruce prompts again. “Talk to me.”</p>
<p>“A-about what?” Jason manages shakily.</p>
<p>“Where are you?”</p>
<p>“You’re not keeping track?”</p>
<p>“Jason.” Bruce’s voice is firmer now, familiar territory once more.</p>
<p>“Some alleyway,” Jason says. “I dunno which one.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Bruce says.</p>
<p>Jason wonders what he means by that. Bruce always means something, he…</p>
<p>“Jason, are you able to focus?” Bruce continues.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Jason growls. His skin feels tight, prickly, and his emotions are jumping all over the place, but the haze is starting to recede from his vision.</p>
<p>“The signal isn’t moving around anymore,” Bruce says. “They’ve settled. Easier to track down.”</p>
<p>Jason exhales. That makes sense. They’re too late already, far too late, but Dick and Damian are both still alive.</p>
<p>“You’ve broken up traffickers before,” Bruce says. His tone is even, but Jason knows that he means judgement there. Jason <em>has</em> broken up human traffickers. Plenty of them. By killing them. The bastards are all well and buried.</p>
<p>“So what?” he snaps, defensive.</p>
<p>“Where were they? Where do these people tend to headquarter, Jason?”</p>
<p>“The docks,” Jason says automatically. “The water makes it easy to get in and get out. Easy to hide shit in a ship. Easy to toss evidence.”</p>
<p>“You’re closest,” Bruce says. “Check the docks.”</p>
<p>Jason nods, even though no one is there to see him. He starts moving automatically, barely thinking about it, feet tapping as he waits at the end of the alley for his bike. “But Dick and Damian aren’t being trafficked,” he points out. “They’re being held. ‘S different.”</p>
<p>“The docks still make sense,” Bruce says. “There’s very little light or noise pollution in the video. They’re not in the thick of the city. The sound echoes, the space they’re in is large and mostly empty.”</p>
<p>“If they’re not being trafficked then they don’t actually need to be connected to the water,” Jason says. “Narrows it down.”</p>
<p>“I’m dispatching Red Robin your way,” Bruce says, “and re-routing Black Bat. Spoiler will cover the rest of the city. Red Robin and Black Bat know to defer to you.””</p>
<p>It’s a massive show of confidence. It leaves Jason stunned. These are Bruce’s own children in danger, and he’s handing control of the mission to Jason.</p>
<p>“What if I’m wrong?” Jason asks as his bike rolls up.</p>
<p>“I don’t think that you are,” Bruce says.</p>
<p>For all his faults, Bruce is very rarely wrong.</p>
<p>Jason swallows, swinging up on his bike. He swallows hard. “I’m going to bring them back,” he says.</p>
<p>“You will,” Bruce agrees.</p>
<p>Jason exhales shakily and switches back to the main line. Immediately voices are ringing out, overlapping and chaotic. “Hey!” he shouts.</p>
<p>The chatter cuts off abruptly. “Listen, all this bullshit ain’t gonna help us find them alright? O, send us all specs of the warehouses near the docks. Don’t bother with the ones that have an actual dock though, Dick and Damian are being held, not trafficked.”</p>
<p>“On it,” Oracle replies promptly.</p>
<p>“Let’s split up,” Jason says. “Red Robin, you’re coming from the North, so you start at the top. Black Bat, where are you? You wanna go up or down?”</p>
<p>“Headed straight across now,” Cassandra says. “Twenty-third. I’ll let you know when I’m one away, tell me where you both are. Where are you starting from, Hood?”</p>
<p>“Seventeenth,” Jason says. “I’m headed down.”</p>
<p>“Copy,” Tim and Cass chorus.</p>
<p>Like the rest of the city, the Gotham docks are a mixed bag. Segments of it are nice, well maintained spacious docks for business shipments. Other parts are dark, seedy, warehouses full of drugs and criminals. Jason automatically writes off anything well lit or secured by large companies. He skips over the ones he knows too, the ones that serve as shelter for the street rats, desirable only for their roofs and four walls.</p>
<p>That still leaves a lot of warehouses to check. And Jason is thorough. Just because his infared doesn’t show bodies doesn’t mean they’re not hiding, or that the concrete isn’t too thick to penetrate. If only he could <em>see</em>..</p>
<p>His head snaps up. Across the river Metropolis shines, bright and clean. So different from the darkness of Gotham’s underbelly.</p>
<p>It gives him an idea.</p>
<p>He doesn’t technically have access to Justice League comms. But <em>Dick</em> does, and Jason knows how to access his signal. It takes some fiddling with the comms unit, and he hates to notice his hands shaking a bit as he pokes as the electronics. He clenches his spare fist so hard the leather creaks. He wishes he could feel the bite of his own nails, scrapes them across the palm of his glove.</p>
<p>He shoves the helmet back on, basically a remote access of Dick’s unit, which gives him access to the League.</p>
<p>“Who is this?” Superman’s voice comes across it immediately.</p>
<p>Good.</p>
<p>“It’s Red Hood,” Jason says. “I’m sure you know what’s happening.”</p>
<p>“I’m keeping an eye on it.”</p>
<p>Even better, that means he’s already out in the field. “We need some help with the search,” Jason says. “Could use your superspe-”</p>
<p>The rush of wind around him and the thump of Superman landing next to him cut him off.</p>
<p>Jason grins. “Fuck yeah, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he says.</p>
<p>“You have a lead?” Superman says, cocking his head.</p>
<p>Jason nods. “We think they’re being held in one of the warehouses here. Probably not one with a dock, since they’re not trying to go anywhere. We’ll search the ones you see people inside. You can see which ones they are, right?”</p>
<p>Superman nods and in a rustle of a cape he’s gone again.</p>
<p>Okay. Yeah, sure. Jason can do this. He can give orders to Superman while his boyfriend is missing. What the fuck.</p>
<p>Because he’s fast, and he’s Superman, Clark is back before Jason is even finished freaking out. “There are eight occupied warehouses,” he says.</p>
<p>“Which ones?” Jason says. “Tim is uptown and Cas is coming in from the east, so we can split it up.”</p>
<p>“Four, six, twelve, thirteen, eighteen, twenty-four, twenty-nine, and thirty-four,” Clark recites.</p>
<p>“It’s not six, eighteen, or twenty-nine,” Jason says. “I know those.” He calls the comms again. “Got an update,” he says. “Red Robin, check out dock thirty-four. Black Bat, twenty-four. If none of us find anything, meet me at eighteen, go it?”</p>
<p>“Copy,” they echo.</p>
<p>Jason looks at Superman. “If I get four, you wanna take at look at twelve and thirteen? Might be something fishy going on with them next to each other like that.”</p>
<p>Superman nods. “Of course,” he says. He gives Jason an encouraging sort of smile and claps him on the shoulder.</p>
<p>It’s weird. Jason is used to the type of people who just nod gruffly before jumping off the rooftop.</p>
<p>“I’ll report back quickly,” Superman promises before he leaves.</p>
<p>Jason exhales and shakes himself, clenching his hands a few times to bring himself back into focus. They’re close, close enough that Jason can feel it itching under his skin, can taste the adrenaline of a coming fight under his tongue. Dick is close, and Jason is going to find him. He has to. He runs his hands over his holsters, checking, reassuring, before he heads off.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>How many warehouses and docks are normal??? Who knows.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dick is in bad shape, and still threatened with a knife.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Lots of thoughts and threats of death. And a cliffhanger.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There are voices, lots of them, just at the edge of Dick’s understanding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...lot of blood…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...looks fucking pale…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...still breathing, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick tries to focus, but it’s hard. His head feels fuzzy, buzzing and distant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...fuckin’ wake up…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...was gonna get it on camera…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...not very exciting…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...not yet…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...the kid!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voices become even more confusing, devolving into an intelligible jumble of shouts that echo and throb. Dick struggles to sort them out. There’s definitely more than one person, someone on the move, the sound bouncing around.</span>
</p>
<p>“Fuck off, assface!”</p>
<p>
  <span>That voice gives Dick a jolt of adrenaline. He recognizes it. Damian. Dick would always know his brother’s voice, and besides, Damian’s voice is high and clear, distinct from all the other, deeper adult voices. It’s easier to pull his mind back into focus if he concentrates on Damian’s voice. He’s snapping and cursing up a storm, English and Arabic and creative ones that Dick’s pretty sure he picked up from Jason. It’s clear he’s upset, and his distress gives Dick another push. He can’t find it in him to formulate speech, but he finds that he’s able to open his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>His vision is fuzzy. A first all he can see is nondescript gray, but after a few blinks and a little bit of effort, he manages to make out slightly fuzzle concrete, spattered with red. Blood. A few more blinks, and he manages to focus on a vague shape. Oh. It’s his foot.</p>
<p>
  <span>He tries to flex his toes, and is relieved when it works. They’re his toes then, and they’re still fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick tries to focus more. If he has one foot and one set of toes, he must have the other…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gags. Where his other foot should be all he can see is blood, red and thick and dripping, spattering down onto the concrete. He tries to move the toes on that feet too, but all that happens is more pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His stomach lurches. Oh god, oh god, oh god. His foot. It all comes back to him in disorienting, disturbing waves. He was shot. In his foot. He remembers the feel of the bullet blowing it apart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chokes at the memory, panic wrapping around his chest. He tries to focus on breathing, in and out, in and out, while he still can. He loses track of everything else, only to have a wall of sound crash into him, startling and overwhelming as the chaos makes it way towards him.</span>
</p>
<p>Still looking down, Dick sees boots, pairs and pairs of boots, stomping around, smearing the blood. His blood. In the midst of them though a pair of bare dirty feet, dangling a few inches above the ground.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Damian</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dick remembers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tries to force his head up. The shapes and colors blur, tripping and disorienting. It’s too much effort for him to keep his head up, so he lets it sag against his arm, still held upright. He knows he’s still cuffed, can feel that he’s restrained, even if he can’t feel the metal anymore, his arms going numb from extended time in this position, the blood pooling in his shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has to close his eyes for a long moment to gather himself, to breathe through the dizziness and the pain, until he feels like his brain stops spinning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, he feels like he can open his eyes without choking and so he does, slow, blinking a few times to settle his vision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s several large men, their fuzzy faces vague but familiar. In the midst of them is Damian, his lips drawn back in a snarl, his body twisting against the hold of two large men, his feet kicking out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you!” he’s screeching, face red with either anger or exertion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Calm down,” one of the men snaps, yanking hard at Damian’s leg.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damian’s shouts turn into those of pain, his joint stretching uncomfortably.</span>
</p>
<p>“Stop,” Dick manages to croak. “Stop it.”</p>
<p>
  <span>The guy in the middle, who Dick manages to recognize as the one he’s pegged as the leader, starts laughing. “So predictable,” he drawls. “You’ll rally yourself at the sound of your brother’s pain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damian bares his teeth. Dick thinks that if he were close enough, he could probably hear Damian actually growling. One of the goons holding him gives him a rough shake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What-” Dick’s voice sticks in his throat. He swallows a few times, trying to clear it, wets his lips. Talking is hard. A lot of effort. “What do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want you awake when I kill you.” The leader’s smile is sharp-edged and terrifying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Damian cries out, his struggles picking up. “You’ll never get your money if Dick dies,” he pants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick feels a weird twist of pride. Damian’s being smart, being distracting, talking, will buy them time, even if their enemies fail to listen to reason. They need time, time for a rescue that Dick is still hoping for. At least for Damian, even if it’s too late for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Father will kill you,” Damian threatens.</span>
</p>
<p>The men all break into laughter. “Fancy pants Wayne?” one of them chuckles. “I bet that rich bitch has never done dirty work in his life. Probably too afraid of bruising his delicate rich boy knuckles.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, if only they knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dick thinks distantly. They might be right, Bruce would never kill them, but it’s for the wrong reason. Bruce wouldn’t kill them because killing them would be too </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And besides, Dick wouldn’t want him to. Bruce knows that. Dick knows the same about Bruce. Bruce had made him promise, once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jason</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His brain and heart lurch. Bruce wouldn’t avenge Dick’s death with more death, but Jason would. The thought makes Dick anxious. They’ve all been doing so well, getting along. Tim has settled around Damian, and Jason has settled around Tim. Damian doesn’t hurl cruel insults or personal attacks casually any longer. Even Bruce and Jason have been playing nice. If Dick dies...he’s not stupid enough to think that he’s the only thing keeping the family together, but he knows that he’s a mediator, that he keeps things smooth. He can’t die. He can’t let it happen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He must be lost in his own thoughts for too long, because it surprises him when the next thing he knows is a sharp line of pain being drawn across his stomach. He gasps and tilts his head down to look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even just tilting his head that little bit makes him dizzy, and the blood he sees slicking his abdomen doesn’t help.</span>
</p>
<p>It’s not good. He knows he’s already lost too much blood.</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is sooner than I intended,” the leader muses, taking another step closer to Dick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Dick had the energy to, he would recoil.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve been fun,” the man continues, “but the two of you have been trying my patience. And with an injury like that…” He trails off and cocks his head towards the ruin of Dick’s foot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick closes his eyes and presses his face back into his arm. He doesn’t look. He can’t. All he can feel from his left leg is alternating scalding fire and horrifying nothingness. Just thinking about it makes his heart race and his skin go cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man chuckles darkly and taps the flat of his blade against Dick’s collarbone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick’s heart beats harder, his breathing picks up, uneven and rushing. The edge of the blade is just off of his throat, a clear threat, a horrifying intention in sharp, cold metal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Damian’s voice is wobbling, “please, don’t. I...we’ll do anything. Anything you want. Father will pay you any sum of money. Double. Triple. Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your father still hasn’t paid me anything!” the man roars.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Distantly, Dick registers the cool, gross flecks of his spit on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you two...you’re more trouble than your worth! I wouldn’t have had to shoot you if you had just behaved! If you had just sat there, like good little boys. But instead you keep trying to hurt me! And my men!” For the first time, the man seems to have lost his cool, unsettling control. Dick wishes he were in a position to take advantage of that fact.</span>
</p>
<p>“He will pay,” Damian tries, “it will just-”</p>
<p>
  <span>“Silence!” the man shouts. “You and your endless screeching and your escape attempts, your brother with his mouth and his flips. I’m tired of it!” He gestures with the knife, slitting open the skin along Dick’s collarbone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick can’t help the cry that comes out of his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instantly, the man’s demeanor seems to change, coming back under control, and his voice, when he speaks, is once again cold and slimy. “At least you don’t have much time left,” he says. “Do you hear that, little Wayne? Drip, drip, drip. You should be thanking me. Your brother is slowly bleeding out, but I’m going to make it quick for him instead. Isn’t that nice of me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifts the knife, pressing it against the soft skin of Dick’s throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Damian cries out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick’s heart squeezes in pain. “Dami, it’s okay,” he lies. It’s not okay. He doesn’t want to die. But better it be him than Damian. “Just don’t watch, okay? Don’t look, Damian.”</span>
</p>
<p>“Dick,” Damian sobs, and it’s a proper sob, watery and broken. It’s so heart wrenching it takes Dick several seconds to realize that Damian had called him by his first name.</p>
<p>
  <span>“Love you, little D,” he says. He doesn’t care that working his throat has made the knife press into his skin, shallow knicks at the moment. A looming reminder. He opens his eyes, forcing them to find Damian’s and hold them.</span>
</p>
<p>Damian’s eyes are bright and scared.</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick wants to run his hand through Damian’s hair one last time, but he’s content with this. “It’s okay,” he says again, softly, mostly just mouthing it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s really not,” the man sneers, stepping even closer. His smell is repugnant, the feel of his body all wrong. Dick tries to imagine something else, tries to picture Jason, Bruce, Tim, wrapping him tight, holding him close.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels the metal of the knife sink in further.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shuts his eyes, hoping that Damian has done the same.</span>
</p>
<p>He wonders if this is how Jason had felt, in the warehouse. This mix of fear and resignation and denial. Even now it seems surreal, far away.</p>
<p>He takes one last deep breath…</p>
<p>
  <span>And a bomb goes off.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oooooh who threw the bomb???</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The cavalry arrives!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clark gets lucky at warehouse thirteen.</p><p>The irony isn’t lost on Jason.</p><p>Clark comes to him while Jason is trying to pry open a side passage in the fourth warehouse that his helmet readers can’t penetrate.</p><p>The wind from his speed, and the thunk of his landing is distinctive enough that Jason doesn’t shoot, though his hand does still flex towards his gun.</p><p>“I’ve found them,” Clark says, his voice deep and even.</p><p>Jason flinches like he’s been shocked. “And you left them? What the fuck, why didn’t you get them?”</p><p>Clark is unmoved by Jason’s outburst. “I came to take you,” he says smoothly, gesturing with his arm out.</p><p>Jason immediately feels embarrassed about going straight to shouting, about acting like a fucking kid, but he’s glad that Clark seems to be ignoring that it’s happened. He steps up close to Clark, into the arc of his arm. “How does this work?” he asks.</p><p>“Step on my foot,” Clark says, “and put your face between my neck.”</p><p>“What?” Jason says flatly, recoiling on instinct. It sounds…close, intimate. He’s never done anything like that with anyone apart from Dick.</p><p>“It ensures that your feet won’t be ripped off your legs if they’re dangling and catch the ground, and allows me to hold your head in neck in place while protecting your face from the damage winds can cause. Your body isn’t made to travel at superspeeds, Jason.”</p><p>Clark’s voice is still even and smooth, calm and steady. It makes Jason feel silly for being so emotional. Of course his body would fly apart at high speeds if Clark didn’t physically hold him together. He just hadn’t expected…he thought he’d get a call and make his way over there, he wasn’t prepared to be picked up by Superman and whipped through space at inhuman speeds.</p><p>He swallows and steps under Clark’s arm, balancing on his boot. He exhales slowly, lying to himself that Clark can’t hear it. He taps the comm before he puts his head down. “Red Robin, Black Bat,” he says. “Get to warehouse thirteen as fast as you can.”</p><p>He listens to Tim and Cass both make acknowledgements before he turns it off and puts his head down on Clark’s shoulder. He’s so glad he has a helmet. He can’t feel the warmth of Clark’s shoulder or smell him, or anything like that, and it makes it easier.</p><p>Clark drapes his arm up the line of Jason’s spine and settles his hand at the base of his neck.</p><p>“I’m going to have to reach under your helmet a bit,” Clark says, still even and serious. “It’s not going to explode right?”</p><p>Jason snorts, just to relieve the tension. “It only explodes if I’m already dead,” he says.</p><p>Clark’s hand on the back of his neck makes Jason jolt at first. He’s not used to being touched, especially when he’s in costume. People just don’t <em>touch</em> Red Hood. All of it is strange, even Clark’s bare hands. Everyone he knows wears gloves with their costumes, but of course, Clark’s Kryptonian skin doesn’t need the type of protection their human hands do. His body automatically registered touch on his nape as a threat, unless it’s from Dick, and Clark’s hands are decidedly not Dick’s, too big, too smooth, too warm. Dick’s ducked his fingers under the edge of Jason’s helmet only a few times, in the dark of night, smiling softly at Jason and unable to kiss him with the helmet on.</p><p>Jason’s heart pounds. Dick. He’s doing this for Dick. Dick is hurting and he’s fucking hesitating because he’s afraid of being touched by Superman. “It’s fine,” he murmurs as Clark settles his hand, moving Jason’s head just a tad.</p><p>Jason holds himself stiff and still, nervous, and then the world is rushing around him, a loud roar screeching around him, his organs swooping. It’s like being on a rollercoaster, except not at all, because no roller coaster goes so shockingly fast.</p><p>They stop just as suddenly and Jason tries to wrench himself away from Clark, but Clark holds him still for a few seconds.</p><p>“Oh god,” Jason pants. “Hey, do people usually throw up on you when you do this?”</p><p>Clark laughs. “Sometimes,” he says. “I don’t do it often. Too risky.”</p><p>“Jesus fuck,” Jason says, just because, because he feels like all his organs are in the wrong place, but slowly shifting back into place, and his ears are still ringing.</p><p>Clark releases his hold and lets Jason stumble away.</p><p>He puts his hands on his knees and hangs his head down, taking several deep breaths. “Dick,” he manages.</p><p>“Yes,” Clark says. “Here.”</p><p>Jason picks his head up and follows Clark to a clear panel in the ceiling. Below them is a large room, fairly typical of a warehouse, gray and nondescript, doors on the opposite wall, and a large, ceiling high wall extending three quarters of the way into the area. On the right side of the wall Jason sees people moving around, small from this distance, but with a bit of focus, and the use of the lenses in his helmet, he can make out about seven of them. There’s two very large men with a small struggling figure held between them. Damian. There’s another two men, hands on their guns, standing behind the two with Damian, flanking them. In front of them is another man, he must be a leader. He has a knife in his hand and he’s gesturing with it as he talks.</p><p>He talking to Dick, who’s strung up on some kind of board.</p><p>Seeing it makes Jason want to vomit more than travelling via superspeed had. Dick is hanging limply, clearly unable to hold himself up with any kind of tension on his own.</p><p>“There’s more men in the rooms to the side,” Clark says.</p><p>Jason nods, but doesn’t look over, intent on watching the man’s knife as it comes closer and closer to Dick. “I sense six more heartbeats,” Clark continues. “It’s likely they’re all armed. Given the potential for ricochets, I would advise a subtle entrance. If there’s chaos a bullet could go stray and hit Dick or Damian.”</p><p>Jason nods again, focus on the knife in the man’s hand. He seems agitated, waving it around, but then he presses it to Dick’s neck and Jason’s breathing stops.</p><p>Damian starts to struggle against his captors and Dick holds perfectly still. The man must still be talking, but Jason can’t be assed to hear what he says. “We have to go,” he says. “We have to go in now.”</p><p>“Don’t you want to wait for Red Robin and Black Bat?” Superman asks.</p><p>The man slices at Dick’s collarbone, just below the veins in his neck.</p><p>“We have to <em>go</em>,” Jason insists. In his left hand he takes his grapple, not his usual set up but it leaves his right hand free to fire a gun.</p><p>“There are eleven enemies,” Superman reminds him.</p><p>Jason takes a shaky breath and forces himself to <em>think</em>. From his belt he takes out two bombs, rolling them around in his hand. “We’ll use the wall to divide them out. Draw out the guys in the back, distract the guards around Dick and Damian. How many can you take?”</p><p>“Lots,” Superman says confidently.</p><p>“Great. Take as many as you can while you wait for backup. I’ll go after Dick and Damian.” Jason secures his grip on his red bomb and chucks it through the glass in the ceiling.</p><p>It thunks down on the floor below, rolling a bit before it explodes is a blast of light and noise.</p><p>It works almost immediately, the opposite door flying open and men pouring out, guns ready. The two flanking Damian’s guards turn too, and that’s Jason’s cue.</p><p>Jason throws the gray bomb next with another shatter of glass, following it down into the room. With his grapple in the ceiling and a gun in his spare hand.</p><p>He descends into a cloud of smoke and shouting, but Jason had memorized everyone’s positions before he’d leaped, and besides, his helmet gives him thermal vision. He shoots one of Damian’s guards with a pellet in the side of the head and leads with his boots into the man in front of Dick, careful not to jostle the arm with the knife until he can wrap his fist around it in the same moment his boot collides into the space between his shoulder blades where they meet his neck.</p><p>The man grunts and goes down hard. Jason takes his knife and kicks it away, making sure to break the guy’s fingers under his boot as he does so.</p><p>Jason holds him down with his weight on the man’s neck, careful not to snap it, as much as he wants to. He holsters his grapple and grabs the man’s hair, banging it into the ground.</p><p>The man wails in pain, but before Jason can follow through, he grabbed from behind and lifted off.</p><p>He throws his head back, hears the satisfying crunch of a broken nose and the clack of broken teeth, staggering the man holding him. In a move that Dick taught him, Jason puts his hands on the man’s shoulders and flips himself up and over his head, digging his fingers into the shoulder’s strong enough to make sure the man follows him down, slamming his shoulders and head into the ground.</p><p>The man cusses loudly, but Jason kicks him violently in the head and that shuts him up.</p><p>The smoke is clearing so Jason switches off his thermal vision to take in the space.</p><p>The face of the man at his feet is covered in blood, and neither him or the man sprawled out in front of him, trying to lift his shoulders to cradle his broken hand. Jason risks a glance behind him and finds that the other large guard is on the ground, clutching a horrifically dislocated kneecap, while Damian, still cuffed, kicks and stomps at whatever part of him he can reach.</p><p>Jason walks over and pistol whips the man until he stops squirming.</p><p>Damian’s head snaps up to look at him.</p><p>At first glance, he looks remarkably fine. Cuts and bruises, particularly a nasty black eye, but nothing on him looks bleeding or broken. Still, Jason asks, “Are you alright, Damian?”</p><p>Damian jolts at his voice, almost as if he hadn’t expected it to be real. “I’m fine,” he says. Then his expression shifts. “Grayson, though, To-Hood, he’s…”</p><p>“I know,” Jason assures him. “Damian, do you know where the keys are?”</p><p>Damian shakes his head.</p><p>“Okay, you check these guys for them,” Jason orders. “I’ll get him down.”</p><p>He pulls out a specialty knife, all focused heat, good for cutting through metal. When Dick had given it to Jason, it’s specialty Waynetech, he’d made lightsaber noises with his mouth, Jason remembers.</p><p>“Hey, Dickie,” Jason says, stroking his hand lightly down Dick’s torso, mindful of the deep, ugly bruises, and the open cuts. “I’ve got you.”</p><p>Dick stirs a little, eyes fluttering.</p><p>Jason starts with his right arm, holding his wrist gently in place as he slices through the chain with the knife. It’s a bit slow going, unfortunately the knife isn’t as swift or easy as an actual lightsaber would be, and it’s too hot for Jason to want to risk on the cuff, so close to Dick’s skin.</p><p>Once it’s done, before Dick’s arm can drop, Jason catches it, one hand still on his wrist and the other on his shoulder, lowering his arm slowly, mindful of the strain the muscles have already been under.</p><p>Dick cries out at that, whimpering and gasping as Jason moves his arm.</p><p>“Fuck, Dick, it’s okay, babe,” Jason murmurs, pressed close to him. “Just me, alright? Gonna get you out of here, you’re gonna be fine.” He can’t control the words spilling out of his mouth, but at least his voice isn’t shaking.</p><p>Once his right arm is down and Jason lets go, Dick’s weight slumps, body going even laxer, draping against Jason’s body.</p><p>Jason experiences a burst of absolute fear, but he can feel the soft, shaky rise and fall of his chest, and his HUD registers Dick’s heartbeat, faint and weak, but there.</p><p>He intends to move on to Dick’s right arm, when a shout interrupts him.</p><p>Jason whips around, Dick still a slumping weight against his shoulder, half-freed.</p><p>Damian’s being held by the man with the knife that Jason had taken down. He’s clearly recovered enough, maybe roused by Damian going through his pockets, to have grabbed the kid, one arm wrapped tight around him, the other holding the knife to his neck. It trembles in his left hand, clearly unused to wielding a knife in that hand.</p><p>Damian looks at Jason, and even though his eyes are steady and clear, Jason can hear his breath coming in short, panicked breaths.</p><p>That rings alarm bells. Damian is no stranger to having knives and even guns pressed against him, this man must have done something awful to him earlier to actually make Damian fear him.</p><p>“One wrong move,” the man threatens.</p><p>“Hey, calm down,” Jason says, glad his tone his moderated by the helmet.</p><p>“Stay the fuck back,” the man demands. His eyes are wild, darting around. He’s clearly desperate; Dick is half freed, Damian is held by just a knife, Red Hood stands in front of him, and from the muffled chaos coming from the other side of the warehouse, it’s clear that his operation is falling apart in front of him.</p><p>Desperate people are dangerous. Unpredictable. Jason just has to calm in down. “Alright, what do you want me to do?” he asks, his mind already thinking ahead, planning. It would be hell on Dick’s left shoulder, but Jason could let him go, make a dash for Damian, if he had to.</p><p>“Drop your gun,” the man says.</p><p>“Okay,” Jason says easily. He unstraps the gun on his left hostler, the grappling gun, the one that the man is probably looking at, and tosses it gently on the ground.</p><p>“I know you, Red Hood,” the man says. “You have more guns.” He yanks at Damian’s hair, exposing the boy’s neck.</p><p>“Okay, calm down,” Jason says again, glad that his helmet makes keeping his tone easy and smooth simple. Telegraphing his movements, he pulls the guns out of his shoulder holsters and putting them on the ground as well. “There. Will you let him go now?”</p><p>“No,” the man growls.</p><p><em>Great</em>, Jason thinks. It’s clear that the man doesn’t even have a plan, doesn’t know what he wants, is just trying to get control over something in some way. Fuck, this is dangerous.</p><p>Damian is still sucking in short panicked breaths, eyes wide as he stares at Jason.</p><p>Jason can’t move suddenly or fast, not with the knife at Damian’s throat. But with his captor so unpredictable, he can’t wait for one of the others to finish and come to help them either.</p><p>“Alright, what else is it you need from me?” Jason asks. His right arm is still hidden by Dick’s limp body and he moves it, slowly, carefully, the opposite of his previous motions, to his waistband.</p><p>“Hey, why don’t you help me?” the man says suddenly. “Yeah, yeah! Help me get them out of here! We can get more money out of Wayne.”</p><p>“Why would I help you?” Jason says. Once again, the helmet makes his voice flat, and his mocking disbelief doesn’t come through. He flutters his left hand, hoping the man is too distracted with talking to notice.</p><p>He is, but Damian isn’t. Jason sees his eyes flit to his hand. He makes a few signs, hoping that Bruce taught Damian the same hand signals he’d taught Jason and Dick.</p><p>“You don’t like ‘em either!” the man says, clearly thinking he’s onto something. “You’re different from the other capes.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jason agrees blandly, “I don’t have a cape.”</p><p>“I’ll pay you,” the man says. “Wayne will give us more money, and I’ll give you half! I’ll give you guns, trade routes, whatever you want. Come on, it’s a good deal.”</p><p>“I’m afraid I’ll have to turn you <em>down</em>,” Jason says.</p><p>Damian moves fast, taking advantage of the man’s laxed grip, distracted by the conversation, to slide down.</p><p>Jason whips his arm out from behind Dick’s body and fires one shot straight into the man’s head.</p><p>There’s the bang of a bullet and the wet thunk of it piercing skin and skull, blood and brains.</p><p>The man falls back, dead.</p><p>Damian, having fallen to the ground, scrambles up off his hands and knees before putting his hand back in the dead man’s pocket.</p><p>Jason clicks the safety back on his gun and then shoves it into his waistband again, taking out his knife to work on freeing Dick’s second arm.</p><p>He’s halfway through the chain when Damian taps his shoulder with the keys.</p><p>Jason switches out the knife for the keys, freeing Dick’s left wrist from the cuff. He repeats the slow, careful process of lowering it, and tosses the keys back to Damian so the boy can unlock the cuff off of Dick’s dangling wrist.</p><p>Without the pull of the chain, Dick collapses into Jason, limp and heavy. He’s murmurs a bit as he’s jostled, but still moving slowly, carefully, Jason manages to guide them to the ground. It’s cold and gross, but Dick’s legs aren’t taking his weight anymore, and Jason needs to get his hurt foot to stop dangling. He can’t bring himself to look too closely at it, too nervous about the extent of the damage. He elevates it as best as he can, cradling Dick’s thigh in his hands as he pulls it up to rest across his own thighs. “Hey,” he says, cupping Dick’s face with his hands, trying to get him to pick his head up, so he can look at his eyes. “Dickiebird, you still with me?”</p><p>Dick murmurs a little and blinks his eyes open. “Wha?” he manages. He tries to lift up his head, but he clearly doesn’t have a lot of control over it.</p><p>“Whoa there,” Jason says, catching his head as it starts to tip too far the other way. He tries very hard not to be terrified at seeing Dick so out of it.</p><p>Dick blinks a few times and seems to bring his eyes into focus with great effort. “Jay?” he says, blinking at his helmet. “Jason?” He pets clumsily at the helmet. “Jay?” he asks again, his voice sounding small and uncertain.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s me,” Jason says. He props Dick’s head up in one hand while the other releases the safeties on his helmet so he can take it off, so Dick can see his face. “I’m right here.”</p><p>“Jay!” Dick says, once Jason removes the helmet, sounding happy and relieved, before he faceplants into Jason’s chest.</p><p>“Shit, man, what did they give you?” Jason asks. He looks over at Damian, who is hovering, the man’s knife in his hand. “He been like this the whole time?”</p><p>“I…I don’t know,” Damian stammers. “I wasn’t…I don’t remember all of it.” He swallows hard. “They drugged us a while ago, though. I think he’s in shock.” His eyes are wide and his breath is still coming fast.</p><p>“Okay,” Jason says, trying to sound soothing. He turns his attention back to Dick, who’s hands are up, flexing at the armor at Jason’s sides, like he’s trying to grab it. He’s trembling slightly, all over.</p><p>“I’ve got you, Dickie,” Jason says. He stokes his hand through Dick’s hair, sweaty and greasy now, but still familiar. It takes a lot of effort to pull his hand away, and look at Dick’s ruined foot, blood soaking Jason’s pants. In the dim light, with all the blood, it’s honestly hard to see what the damage is.</p><p>Jason takes out his real knife, cutting a strip off of his other pant leg, long enough to tie around Dick’s leg, under his knee, trying to save as much of it as he can. He takes out an emergency flask of water, it’s not a lot, mostly just in case he needs to wash off some kind of acid or spores. He uses it now to pour over Dick’s foot, washing away as much of the blood as he can.</p><p>Without the blood, it’s clear that Dick’s foot and ankle are misshapen, bones rearranged incorrectly, pressing at his skin. The blood wells up quickly even after being rinsed off. Fuck, Jason wishes that he had a shirt in his uniform to bandage it with. All he can do is cut his pant leg further into shreds, trying to pick the cleanest ones to wrap around Dick’s foot as best he can.</p><p>“Todd,” Damian says.</p><p>Jason looks back at him, but Damian is looking away, at the dead body of his captor.</p><p>“We should hide the body,” Damian says, his voice cold and mechanical.</p><p>“What?” Jason says, distracted by Dick’s renewed shuddering in his arms.</p><p>“Father will be angry that you have killed him,” Damian says, still sounding detached.</p><p>Idly, Jason thinks that’s probably a bad sign.</p><p>“If we get rid of the body, you do not have to sit through one of his lectures,” Damian continues.</p><p>It almost makes Jason laugh, as fucked up as it is. “Fuck, kid, you have a point,” he admits. Then he sighs. They don’t really have a lot of time, but a body with a bullet hole in its head doesn’t leave much room for guessing. “Okay, what should we do with it?”</p><p>Dick interrupts them with a soft whine, shaking even harder in Jason’s arms.</p><p>“It’s okay, Dickie,” Jason soothes. “I’ve got ya.” He lets Dick lean against his chest as he takes off his jacket, draping it over Dick’s shoulders.</p><p>“Mm,” Dick says.</p><p>Keeping one hand on his shoulder to steady him, Jason pushes Dick back just enough that he can slowly, gently, ease his arms into the sleeves just enough so the jacket won’t slip off him. It’s a good thing that Jason is so much broader than Dick, the jacket is loose with plenty of room for gentle maneuvering. “Be right back,” Jason assures him, petting through his hair again. “Just got to move a body real quick.” He smiles a bit, even though he’s not quite sure that Dick is tracking such things.</p><p>Jason zips the jacket up, trying to keep Dick warm. He can’t really feel Dick’s temperature through his layers of gear, but the shivering is worrying. He leans Dick against a crate so he doesn’t just collapse onto the floor.</p><p>Dick blinks at him and his eyes track Jason slowly as he stands up. He means to cross over to the corpse, but they’re interrupted by the loud cussing of a man, making his way around the wall in the middle of the room, clearly trying to escape the fight that they can still hear raging on.</p><p>He freezes when he sees Jason and Damian, clearly unprepared for them. Jason snaps his gun up again, trained on the man’s head.</p><p>The guy looks past him, growling. “Fuckin’ kid!” he says, snarling at Damian.</p><p>Damian snarls right back. He takes several quick steps towards Jason, where he tugs at the armor on his waist as much as he can. “He’s one of them,” he says. “Who touched Dick.”</p><p>The man is down on the ground with a hole between his eyes before Jason registers having pulled the trigger.</p><p>At his feet, Dick makes a soft noise.</p><p>Jason flinches and blinks, the world shifting back into focus. Fuck. He’d been mad, and this man…he hadn’t even thought…He’d never wanted Dick to <em>see</em>.</p><p>“Dick?” he asks carefully.</p><p>Dick makes another sound and reaches up one arm towards Jason, the other is curled around his ear. “Loud,” he murmurs.</p><p>Maybe he hadn’t seen. Jason can hope.</p><p>“Sorry,” Jason says. He tucks his gun back in the waistband and crouches back down to be level with Dick again. “It’s over now.” He strokes at Dick’s cheek and Dick wraps his hand around Jason’s wrist.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eyes, Jason sees Damian take a few steps closer to the newest corpse.</p><p>Then he kicks it. “Motherfucker,” he says viciously.</p><p>Jason knows he shouldn’t smile, but he can’t really help it.</p><p>Damian turns around with a small, satisfied look on his face. “I do not…disprove of your method,” he says. “Thank you, Todd.”</p><p>Jason shrugs, feeling awkward. He hasn’t killed anyone for a good while, a consequence of too many team-ups with Dick and of Dick’s influence. He hadn’t even felt anything when he’d done it. With the first man, a rubber bullet would have ricocheted, putting Damian in danger. Besides, the man’s knife had already been red with blood. And the second man…Jason can see the caked mix of blood and semen on Dick’s stomach right in front of him. He’s pretty sure the sight is burned into his mind’s eye.</p><p>Dick is watching them still, his eyes glassy and unfocused, and Jason has no idea how much he understands.</p><p>“Gonna get you out of here, alright?” Jason tells him anyways. He can’t help himself, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair off Dick’s face.</p><p>Dick nods, the motion of his head slow and jerky. He lifts his hand again to pat against the side of Jason’s face. “Why,” he murmurs, tracing the edges of Jason’s domino, “what’s’wrong?” He reaches up to his own face, feeling for a mask, and makes a sound of soft distress when he finds none.</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay,” Jason says. “You’re just Dick Grayson now. It’s fine, no one knows. See, Damian doesn’t have his either.”</p><p>“Dami,” Dick breathes.</p><p>Damian steps closer and sinks to his knees. “Here,” he says.</p><p>“You…okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Damian says. Gently, the kid reaches out and takes Dick’s hand off his face. “Todd is going to take us home.”</p><p>Dick nods sluggishly. “Okay,” he agrees.</p><p>“Hang tight, okay Dickie?” Jason says. He tries to be as gentle as possible as he starts to move Dick, pulling him back into his chest, one hand under his shoulder blades. He slides his other arm under Dick’s legs, before he lifts them.</p><p>Dick moans a little at the jostling, shoving his face into Jason’s shoulder. “Jason,” he groans.</p><p>“I’ve got you, Dick,” Jason says.</p><p>Damian stoops, picking up Jason’s discarded helmet and guns. The guns he slides back into Jason’s open holsters, and at Jason’s nod tucks the rest of them into his waistband. He keeps ahold of the helmet in one hand, and grips at Jason’s belt with his other.</p><p>Jason wishes he had a second jacket. The kid looks so small, all naked and bruised and upset. “Do…do you want to climb on my back?” he asks awkwardly. Dick is heavy, all muscle, and Jason needs two hands to deal with him, especially if he wants to be careful of his injuries.</p><p>Damian shakes his head but he does step closer to Jason, almost pressed against his side.</p><p>Together they head back to the warehouse entrance, a bit lurchy and awkward. Jason is walking slow, trying not to jostle Dick too much, and keeping pace with Damian, who is moving hesitantly and slowly. Dick is panting shallowly.</p><p>“Hey, Dickie, can you stay awake for me?” Jason asks. As much as he wants to let Dick rest, he has no idea what drugs may be in his system, or what kind of internal damage he may have.</p><p>“Mm,” Dick says. “M’head hurts.”</p><p>“I know, babe,” Jason says. “It’ll go away.”</p><p>“Mm,” Dick hums again. “Babe. Jason.”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s me,” Jason says. “I’m here, Dickie.”</p><p>“Jay,” Dick sighs. Then, “Gonna…sick,” he mumbles, and Jason crouches so Dick can turn his head and vomit on the ground. It’s not much, and it lacks much force, but Damian pulls back a bit as Dick gags up mostly bile and whatever hors d’oeuvres he’d had at the gala.</p><p>“S’ry,” Dick mumbles when he’s done, shivering in Jason’s arms.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Jason assures him. “Concrete was gross anyways.”</p><p>“I threw up too,” Damian says gently, he reaches out again, touching Dick’s shoulder gently.</p><p>Dick groans and shakes harder.</p><p>Jason frowns, worried. “Let’s get out of here, yeah, Dickie?”</p><p>It’s quieter now, and Jason assumes that either the calvary has arrived or that the goons simply hadn’t been a match for Superman himself. Sure enough, the next person who comes around is familiar.</p><p>“El?” Jason asks, recognizing one of his people. El is tiny, with dirty blonde hair and an undercut, the longer piece of it braided back. Jason knows that in the day, El is Elanor, the estranged child of a conservative Senator. El had been the one to find Jason and offer their services, bright-eyed and determined. Jason had worried over them originally, had actually partnered with them personally as much as possible, just to be sure. But that was years ago, and now El stands completely unscathed, with what looks like a Batarang in their hand.</p><p>El nods at him. “Hood. You’ve got them.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jason says, realizing too late that his helmet is off and his voice is his own. He tries not to react at all to his realization.</p><p>El leans to the side a bit, clearly taking in the two bodies behind them.</p><p>Jason would shrug, but he doesn’t want to jostle Dick in his arms.</p><p>El shrugs for him. “I’m sure they deserved it,” they says, looking at the state of Dick, curled and bleeding and all but unconscious in Jason’s arms.</p><p>“They did.” It’s Damian who speaks, and El look to him.</p><p>They give him a nod and then turns back to Jason. “Go,” El urges. “Get him help. I’ll take care of these guys.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Jason says. He’s sort of glad that he can at least put his true gratitude into his voice.</p><p>“No problem, boss,” El says. As they pass, they pat Jason’s elbow and put their fingers to their lips, giving him a wink.</p><p>Jason relaxes just a bit and leads Dick and Damian out, towards the doors on the other side of the wall.</p><p>He almost walks straight into Tim, who’s coming around the edge of the wall at the same time, almost collides with them. “Oh my god, you’re okay,” he says. “Dammit, Jason, you were supposed to wait for us!”</p><p>Jason growls at him. “I wasn’t about to let them slit Dick’s throat just because it would have been safer for us,” he snaps.</p><p>Damian presses closer to Jason, and Jason can sense the glare he’s sending Tim’s way.</p><p>Tim sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I was worried about all of you,” he admits. “Is Dick unconscious?”</p><p>“Maybe?” Jason says. “He was awake a little bit ago. Hey, Dick, Dickiebird.”</p><p>Dick grumbles something.</p><p>“Kind of,” Jason declares.</p><p>“And you, Damian?” Tim asks.</p><p>“I am fine,” Damian says snappishly. “They didn’t…they were mostly focused on Grayson.”</p><p>Tim is frowning. Jason believes Damian when he says that he’s mostly fine, but he also knows what Tim is seeing when he looks at Damian now, clearly beat up and bruised and dirty, his left eye swollen and purple. He looks like a child, exceptionally tiny and deceptively fragile all stripped and bare.</p><p>“Come here,” Tim says gently, removing his own cape. “Want to cover up?”</p><p>Damian hesitates but then steps forwards and lets Tim drape the cape around him, clutching it closed in front in the same hand he’s holding Jason’s helmet.</p><p>“What happened?” Jason asks.</p><p>“Bat and I got here around the same time,” Tim says. “She had one of your people with her. Honestly, Superman had already done most of the work for us but I think we each got in a few punches.”</p><p>Jason nods.</p><p>“I’ve already called the Batwing for extraction,” Tim says. “It’ll be here soon.”</p><p>“Good. We need to get Dick help,” Jason says. “I’ve done all I can but…” He inhales shakily. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”</p><p>Tim bites his lip. It’s one of his very, very few tells, and the fact that he does it betrays how upset he is.</p><p>“I can help.”</p><p>Jason almost startles, having forgotten briefly that Superman was here.</p><p>“I can fly him now, no need to wait for the plane.”</p><p>“How will you hold him properly?” Jason asks, remembering how specific his own pose had been to survive superspeeds.</p><p>“I won’t go too fast,” Superman says. Like Tim, he takes off his cape and drapes it around Dick. “It will keep him warm as we travel.”</p><p>Jason lets him, still holding Dick close, but helping Superman shift him so the cape is tucked securely around him, the icon in the middle across his chest.</p><p>It would make Dick smile if he was awake enough to recognize what was happening. All he does is mumble a bit and scrunch up his face.</p><p>“Don’t look like that, Dickie,” Jason says softly. “How many people get to wear Superman’s cape?”</p><p>Dick blinks his eyes open and exhales softly against Jason’s neck. “Jay,” he murmurs.</p><p>“Yeah,” Jason says. “It’s me.” Clark is standing with his arms out, bent to cradle Dick’s body. “I’m gonna give you to Clark now, okay, sweetheart?”</p><p>Dick makes a soft humming noise and tries to focus on Jason. “Clark?” he repeats.</p><p>“Yeah, he’s gonna take you to a doctor,” Jason says.</p><p>Gently, he and Clark work to shift Dick’s weight as smoothly as possible into Clark’s arms. Some jostling is avoidable, and Dick whimpers.</p><p>“Sorry, babe,” Jason says. As soon as Dick is shifted over, he runs his fingers through Dick’s hair again. “I’ll see you soon, okay, Dickie?” He swallows the urge to kiss Dick’s forehead. He’s already done too much with the endearments.</p><p>“I’ll take care of him,” Clark promises, before he takes off, navigating smoothing through one of the holes already made in the ceiling.</p><p>Jason cranes his neck and watches him, and Dick, disappear.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And yet we're still nowhere near the end, plenty of whump and comfort still ahead!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hospitals are distressing and liminal</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Detailed descriptions of injuries, discussion of sexual assault</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ride to the Watchtower is excruciating.</p><p>They wait for the Batwing on the roof as Tim calls it. All of them except for El, who had volunteered to stay behind and watch over the bodies until Stephanie got there to handle the hand off to the police.</p><p>Tim had made El promise, no less than three times, not to kill anyone.</p><p>El had crossed their heart and hoped to die, and Tim had opened his mouth undoubtedly to argue, but the rumble of the Batwing engines had cut him off.</p><p>And thank god, because Jason doesn’t have much patience for Tim on the best of days, which this is definitely not.</p><p>Tim declares himself the pilot by sitting himself in the pilot’s chair, and no one protests. The line of his back is ramrod straight, his body tense.</p><p>Jason sits down heavily in one of the seats lining the walls with a <em>thunk</em>. He puts his elbows on his knees and goes to lean his head against his hands but he’s stopped by the sight of his own arms, by the sight of Dick’s blood streaked all over them. He should have expected it, but it still makes his stomach churn unpleasantly to look at. Dick had lost so much blood…Jason swallows hard and puts his head back against the wall instead, shutting his eyes.</p><p>He hears the soft patter of feet as Cass and Damian move around. With his eyes closed it’s hard to be sure, but he thinks that Cass’ soft, muffled footsteps come to a stop by the seats across from him, but the soft thumps of Damian’s bare feet don’t seem to settle at all.</p><p>Tim’s takeoff is smooth, but it still makes Damian stumble into Jason’s shoulder as the floor moves out from under him.</p><p>Jason opens his eyes. Damian looks terrible, eyes wide, body trembling slightly as he clutches Tim’s cape closed and Jason’s helmet to his chest. “Hey, come here kid, come sit,” Jason says softly, patting the seat next to him.</p><p>Damian hesitates, looking around at everyone before he climbs into the seat next to Jason. He tucks his legs up to his chest, folded up under Tim’s cape and leans into Jason’s arm, hiding his face in Jason’s shoulder.</p><p>Jason’s mind is still processing this turn of events – he’d been pretty sure that the kid hated him – but his arm lifts automatically, wrapping around Damian’s skinny shoulders to steady him.</p><p>“Don’t…Don’t say anything, okay?” Damian says softly.</p><p>“I’ve got ya, kid,” Jason assures him.</p><p>They’re silent the rest of the way to the Watchtower. It’s not a long flight, but it is tense. Nothing about the sleek black lines of the plane offers comfort, and nothing comes from the communications unit either. Their group silence continues as they land, the tower itself eerily quiet.</p><p>Damian climbs to his feet almost immediately, but he stays pressed against Jason’s shoulder as much as possible.</p><p>Jason stands too, and after a moment of thinking, takes Damian’s arm, making it look like he’s the one holding on to Damian. Giving Damian a little bit of pride is the least he can do.</p><p>Tim opens the door and they file out, still wordless as they hurry towards the medical ward, their footsteps echoing against the walls.</p><p>Superman is standing alone in front of the operating theater, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed across his chest. Horrifyingly, Jason realizes that the front of his suit is also stained with Dick’s blood. How much more could Dick have even had to lose?</p><p>He obviously hears them coming, because his head is turned to look at them and offers them a reassuring smile.</p><p>“Is he-” Jason starts, but he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence, swallowing hard instead.</p><p>“He’s alive,” Clark assures them. “Bruce is here too, Doctor Thompkins let him inside.”</p><p>“Do you know anything else?” Jason asks anxiously.</p><p>Clark just shakes his head. “No,” he says. He gestures out towards the chairs, lined out in the waiting area. Tim sits down heavily, mimicking Jason’s earlier pose, except he <em>does</em> put his head in his hands. Cass sits steadily next to him, but Jason can tell from the way she tucks her feet up to on her chair and pulls her knees up to her chest, that she’s more upset than she’s letting on. Damian takes a shaky breath and presses his face into Jason’s side.</p><p>Jason looks down at him, uncertain about what to do. He has the strangest desire to rub his hand up and down the kid’s back.</p><p>“Damian,” Superman says, his voice even and calm and comforting. “The doctor did ask me if I might take a blood sample from you. To analyze whatever drug it was they gave the two of you. Would that be alright?”</p><p>Bruce wouldn’t have asked, he would have just stuck a needle in Damian’s arm as soon as he’d stepped off the plane.</p><p>Damian picks his face up out of Jason’s ribs and nods, sticking his arm out.</p><p>Suddenly, Superman is kneeling before him, supplies in his hand, cleaning Damian’s arm before he pricks him. “Thank you, Damian,” he says when he’s done.</p><p>Damian looks shocked at the gentleness. He looks between Jason and Superman, and then to the door.</p><p>No one says anything.</p><p>Fuck, is Jason supposed to take control of this situation? He sighs. “Come on, Damian, let’s get you cleaned up.”</p><p>Damian startles again and looks at him with wide eyes. “Uh…alright,” he says, and lets Jason steer him out of the waiting area and towards where he’s fairly certain he remembers the showers being. He hasn’t been to the Watchtower in years, but he hopes it hasn’t changed dramatically. He feels the eyes of Tim and Cass, and even fucking Superman, on them as he takes Damian’s arm lightly and leads him out.</p><p>It takes a few extra turns, and some backpedaling down identical hallways, but eventually Jason does find the showers, just a few hallways off of where he’d thought they were.</p><p>He locks the door behind them and turns to Damian, assessing him.</p><p>He looks terrible in the harsh fluorescence of the bathroom lights. It makes his bruises stand out, makes the pallor of his skin look sickly. He’s dwarfed by Tim’s cape, and even Jason’s helmet looks dramatically outsized in his hands.</p><p>Jason steps close to him and lifts the helmet out of his hands, setting it on the counter.</p><p>“Can I take a look at you?” he asks Damian.</p><p>“I am not injured,” Damian says. He hesitates for several seconds, looking piercingly at Jason, before he drops Tim’s cape.</p><p>Jason looks him over. He’s not a doctor, but he’s been in the field a long time, and he knows some shit. Damian is covered in dirt and bruises, but it looks like he wasn’t attacked with the knife the same way Dick was.</p><p>“Inhale for me,” Jason says, pressing a palm against a bright bruise on Damian’s rib.</p><p>Damian does, and Jason doesn’t feel anything shift, doesn’t hear anything in his lungs.</p><p>“Okay, look at me.”</p><p>Damian does again. Jason doesn’t think he’s ever seen him take so many orders without protesting. His eyes look normal, even the swollen one, pupils average, gaze focused. Jason lifts a finger and Damian follows it.</p><p>“Good,” Jason says.</p><p>He looks a bit closer, noting the slashes and cuts Damian does have. There’s quite a few, but all of them seem to be shallow, nothing is currently bleeding or leaking. The marks around his wrists are probably the worst where he rubbed them raw and broke the skin struggling against his ties.</p><p>Other than the eye, his bruises are mostly the same, handprints wrapped around his skinny arms, colors blooming across his stomach where the skin is soft and the organs less protected. The kid’s knees have also taken a beating, dark and purple, and Jason supposes it’s most likely from his own escape attempts.</p><p>There’s another bruise though, that makes Jason nervous, blotchy handprints dug into Damian’s upper thigh. Like someone had been pulling his leg away from his body.</p><p>“Damian,” he says slowly. “Did they touch you?”</p><p>He chances a look at Damian’s face, which is scrunched up. “Of course they did,” Damian says in that imperious tone he has, like he thinks everyone around him is stupid. “Did you think I punched <em>myself</em> in the face?”’</p><p>“Not like that,” Jason says. Then hesitates. He doesn’t want to be too blunt with the kid, or insensitive, but…“Did they touch you…uh…fuck it.” He’s never been good with words. “Damian, did they touch you sexually?”</p><p>Damian’s breath stutters in his chest and his eyes go wide.</p><p>Jason’s stomach drops and he sees red. Fuck he should have killed the lot of them, fucking monsters, Damian’s just a fucking kid, it makes Jason feel sick, furious, nothing but red flashing through his vision. It takes him a while to hear beyond the rush of blood in his ears, to notice that Damian’s breath is hitching, unsteady, wet.</p><p>He swallows down the growl building in his throat and tries to focus on Damian, upset and trembling, and right there in front of him.</p><p>Jason closes his eyes, counts to five, listening to Dick’s voice in his brain guiding him through it. When he feels like he’s in control of the whiplash rage, he opens his eyes.</p><p>Damian is trembling, eyes big and wet.</p><p>“Okay, Damian,” he says, trying to sound even and measured. “I need to know what happened.”</p><p>Damian nods. “Um, they didn’t…” He inhales unsteadily. “They didn’t touch me,” he says.</p><p>“Damian-” Jason starts, but Damian shakes his head firmly.</p><p>“I’m not lying,” he says. “It…” Another shaky inhale. “It was Grayson they-” Damian’s voice breaks and he slaps his hands up to cover his face. “I didn’t want to look,” he says, and Jason can hear him crying. Damian takes several short, shallow breaths before he speaks. “I tried not to watch,” he starts again. “I knew that Grayson wouldn’t want me to hear him. And I didn’t want…I didn’t want to see him like that!” His voice breaks, and he takes another harsh breath. “But they weren’t paying any attention to me and he was screaming and I wanted to make sure he was okay and-” Damian takes several gulps of air, obviously starting to panic. “I knew he wouldn’t want me to see. But I…I thought that it would…it would help, if I knew what was going on, I thought I could help us!”</p><p>“It’s okay, Damian,” Jason says, trying to sound soothing. “You did the right thing.”</p><p>Damian shudders.</p><p>“I know about Dick,” Jason says, still trying to project calm and certainty. He used to know how to do this. He used to rescue people. “They uh, they sent us some videos.”</p><p>Damian flinches. “I saw them filming,” he admits. “But I wasn’t sure. I was hoping…” He trails off, face still hidden.</p><p>“Damian, can I touch you?” Jason asks. Then catches himself. “Just on the arm.”</p><p>Damian nods, and so Jason does, cupping his hand gently around the kid’s upper arm. “Damian, I need you to focus on me, okay? Do you feel my hand?”</p><p>Damian nods.</p><p>“Good. You’re here, with me, you’re not back there. And Dick is getting help right now.”</p><p>Damian nods again.</p><p>“I know it doesn’t change anything. But it’s the first step to making it better, yeah?” Jason swallows, unsure if he’s saying the right thing.</p><p>At least Damian is responding, breathing and nodding.</p><p>“Okay, do you think you can look at me?”</p><p>Damian hesitates, but eventually, slowly, picks his head up and drops his hands. There are fresh tear tracks streaked down his cheeks, which are flushed red, along with his eyes.</p><p>“There, good,” Jason says.</p><p>“It’s not good,” Damian protests. “None of this is good.”</p><p>“No, it’s not,” Jason agrees. “But we’re gonna try to make it good. That’s our job, right, Robin?”</p><p>“I failed,” Damian says, very quietly, voice fragile. “I could not help Grayson. Or myself.”</p><p>“You’re both alive,” Jason points out. “That means you both succeeded. Take it from me, there was one time I didn’t.”</p><p>Damian stares at him for a long time, searching Jason’s face for something.</p><p>Eventually he must find it, because he nods sharply. Then he shivers. Jason doesn’t know if it’s because of the emotion, or because the Watchtower is chilly, but it still makes him frown.</p><p>“Want to wash up?” he asks. “Get under the warm water? It might help.”</p><p>It feels too little, far too late, but it’s something Jason can offer.</p><p>Damian nods, but he continues to stare at Jason.</p><p>“What?” Jason asks, a little unnerved. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.</p><p>“Will you be staying?” Damian asks.</p><p>“I can leave if you want me to,” Jason says. He doesn’t want to do anything to make Damian uncomfortable, especially after what he’s already seen.</p><p>Damian hesitates again. “I do not mind if you stay,” he says, which Jason figures is his way of asking him to.</p><p>“Okay then,” Jason says. “I’m gonna clean up too.”</p><p>Damian nods and turns to the closest shower.</p><p>Jason turns his back, giving him what privacy he can. The steam builds quickly; at least Bruce had spared no expense in impossible plumbing for the Watchtower. The warmth sinks through the air, and Jason is desperate to get in a shower of his own, to rinse all the shit from the day down the drain, under scalding water, but he doesn’t.</p><p>Instead he turns to the sinks, turning a tap on hot. He lifts his hands to wash them and is stopped, once again, by the sight of Dick’s blood all over them.</p><p>There’s a lot of it, drying and browning, starting to flake off Jason’s skin. A wild part of him wants to keep it on his skin, keep whatever traces of Dick he can still cling to.</p><p>Stupid. Fucking stupid. He’s being ridiculous. He shoves his hands under the water, glad that it’s hot enough to hurt his skin. He scrubs, hard, at the blood, pinking the skin beneath it with friction and heat. It’s not just Dick’s blood that falls away, dirt and smog and sweat too, all turning the water a pinkish gray color as it swirls down the drain.</p><p>When the water starts to run clear Jason turns it off.</p><p>He’s breathing heavy.</p><p>He dries his hands on a towel and tries to calm down.</p><p>It doesn’t work. When he pulls his hands back his hands and forearms are still pink, and his hands are even still stained, blood stuck on his fingernails and in the lines of his skin.</p><p><em>Good</em>, he thinks crazily. It feels like having Dick with him.</p><p>It’s not the first time Jason’s had blood on his hands, metaphorically or literally. Hell is murky. It’s never bothered him before, he’s never been fussed about what it means. He killed two men tonight, but he’s glad it’s not their blood that’s staying with him. It feels right that it’s Dick’s. Those men deserved their deaths, Dick didn’t deserve to be hurt, not ever. Doesn’t deserve to bleed.</p><p>“Jason?”</p><p>Damian’s voice is small, but it echoes against the tiles regardless.</p><p>Jason exhales, clenches his fists, puts them down and turns around.</p><p>Damian’s head is peaking out of the shower curtain. He looks less dirty at least, even if he does look even more vulnerable with his hair plastered to his forehead, and even if his black eye still stands out and his face looks tight and ashy.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Jason asks.</p><p>“I…I don’t have any clothes,” Damian says.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Jason hadn’t thought that one through. He knows that members of the League keep a change of clothes around, but that’s not very helpful, because none of them are anywhere near Damian’s size.</p><p>There are giant towels stacked neatly in the shelving in the corner of the room though. Jason grabs one and offers it to Damian. “Just for now. Until we can get you some clothes.”</p><p>Damian frowns but he takes the towel. He steps out with it pulled tight around him, just like he’d had the cape.</p><p>“We’ll get you clothes,” Jason promises him.</p><p>Damian shrugs. “It is not important. Grayson-” His voice breaks and he turns away.</p><p>“He’ll probably be in surgery still,” Jason says.</p><p>Damian nods and steps up close to Jason again, only stooping to scoop up Tim’s cape.</p><p>Jason lets him hover against his side, keeping his steps even and slow. He grabs his helmet off the counter but holds it loosely in his hand as they head back to the waiting room.</p><p>Everyone is exactly where they left them, slouched in chairs, staring at the door to the operating theater. Cass and Tim have both taken their masks off, but otherwise no one appears to have moved until they swing their heads to watch Damian and Jason approach again.</p><p>Jason drops into one of the chairs closest the door, setting his helmet on the ground near his feet, but Damian heads for Tim.</p><p>“Thank you, Dra-Tim,” he says quietly.</p><p>“Oh,” Tim says, just as quietly, sounding surprised. “That’s…it’s okay, Damian. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”</p><p>“It is not your fault,” Damian says quietly. From the way his eyes flick away, Jason knows that he’s blaming himself.</p><p>Jason looks away, at his own hands, still marked by light streaks of blood. He’s sick and tired of the Wayne blame game, and it looks like the guilt is heavy already. But it’s stupid, guilt won’t help Dick now.</p><p>Damian has apparently finished with his stilted, awkward conversation with Tim, because he’s back at Jason’s side, settling into the chair next to him, all the lines in his body stiff. Two of his fingers curl into one of belt loops on Jason’s pants. Slowly, he lists into Jason’s side, first resting his arm against him, then his shoulder, and finally, his head, which he rests on Jason’s shoulder.</p><p>Jason is, quite frankly, unnerved. Damian is a hellion, as stubborn and spirited as the rest of them, and the only person Jason ever seen him defer to before is Dick. He seems to have decided that Jason is currently second best, and Jason’s not sure what to feel about that.</p><p>They’re all quiet for a long time, still, watchful. A vigilante vigil.</p><p>Jason hates it. Hates this waiting. He hasn’t done it in so long, he’s out of practice. It’s one of the good things that comes from not having anyone to care about.</p><p>Against his side, Damian shivers a bit, pressing closer to Jason.</p><p>Superman looks over at them and frowns. “Damian, what do you say we get you some real clothes?” he says.</p><p>“I don’t have any here,” Damian says. Jason feels him shrug.</p><p>“I can go get some,” Clark offers. “I can get to the manor and back in a jiffy.”</p><p><em>In a jiffy</em>. Jason holds back a hysterical laugh.</p><p>“That’s not a bad idea,” Tim says. “We could all use some clothes.”</p><p>Jason doesn’t bother looking over to see the conversation. He doesn’t care what his replacement does.</p><p>“I’ll go with you,” Tim continues. “I know where everything is.”</p><p>“Does anyone want anything specific?” Clark asks.</p><p>Jason just shrugs. Next to him, he feels Damian shake his head.</p><p>“Jason?”</p><p>Jason’s gaze snaps up. Tim is looking at him, face open and sympathetic. Like they’re part of the same team. Fuck, but Jason hates it.</p><p>“Do you have anything at the manor?” Tim continues, apparently unmoved by Jason’s glare.</p><p>Then again, the kid does live with Bruce.</p><p>The truth is, Jason <em>does</em> have a spare set of clothes in the manor. Not as much as everyone else, obviously, with their rooms and their backups hidden in the cave. Jason used to have a room, and his own drawer in the chest of them in the cave. Now his room is a shrine, a memory of a dead little boy, and the drawer that used to be his sits empty. Jason’s wondered if Bruce had left it that way on purpose, another fucked up shrine, or if someone had switched drawers after Jason came back. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t care. He makes it a point not to visit the cave that much anyways, it shouldn’t bother him. He doesn’t need a drawer. He hates having anything at the mansion at all, period, but Dick had managed to convince him to keep a few things, some old sweatpants, a worn pair of jeans, some spare shirts, behind.</p><p>Well, at least Dick will get to tell Jason I-told-you-so when he wakes up.</p><p>“Dick’s drawer,” Jason grunts. Let them make of that what they will.</p><p>“Okay,” Tim says. God, but his voice is smooth and placating, and Jason doesn’t want to be treated with kid gloves from a fucking kid, so he makes sure to scowl at him for good measure before he closes his eyes against the building headache and rests it back against the wall again.</p><p>“Damian? Cass? Anything specific?”</p><p>Jason feels the shake of Damian’s head and assumes that Cass also shakes her head, because Tim just says, “Okay. We’ll be back soon.”</p><p>Jason feels like he should be doing something, anything that’s not just sitting here useless. He’s too alert to even fully relax, adrenaline from the fight still rushing through him, and the fucking panic that kicks in every time he starts to relax, reminding him that Dick’s still in danger. It’s a vicious cycle, and one that doesn’t have any chance of breaking.</p><p>He tries to focus outside of himself, distract himself. If he tries, he can hear the soft rhythm of Damian’s breath, feel the expansion of his skinny little chest. Beyond, he can hear the ambient noises of the Watchtower, the soft hums of electricity, the whir of the air flowing through the vents. Mundane, ordinary sounds. No matter how hard he tries, Jason can’t hear a single thing from the room beyond the door.</p><p>Beside the soft sounds of their breaths, Cass and Damian are equally quiet.</p><p>It sets Jason on edge. All he wants is to shatter the silence, to scream, to throw something, to bang on the walls until the echo drowns out all the thoughts in his head. But he can’t seem to make himself move, and it’s not just Damian’s soft weight against his arm keeping in his chair either. He feels almost like he’s choking, trapped, pinned, unable to even breathe under the oppressive weight of anxiety.</p><p>He drums his fingers on his leg absentmindedly, for want of anything better to do.</p><p>He has to keep breathing.</p><p>In.</p><p>Out.</p><p>He has all sorts of breathing exercises to manage his anger, but not a single one for managing…whatever the fuck this is.</p><p>Damian’s weight slumps more fully onto Jason, his head resting heavily on his arm.</p><p>Jason opens his eyes, turns his head to look at the kid.</p><p>Damian’s eyes are closed, his breathing deep enough to be sleep, but irregular. Fuck, the kid must be exhausted. Jason doesn’t blame him for passing out. He wishes he could too, but he’s too keyed up, and it feels wrong. Like he’s letting Dick down if he sleeps.</p><p>He shifts his arm a little so Damian can rest for comfortably against Jason’s side, draping his arm over the kid. Damian shifts in his sleep and his breath hitches, but he settles again. Jason focuses on his breathing again, wanting to soothe the kid, not startle him.</p><p>The time doesn’t pass any faster, but at least Jason has something to focus on. He looks across the room and sees Cass, watching them both quietly, matching her breath as well.</p><p>There’s no clocks, and Jason has lost his sense of time, so he has no idea how long it is before he hears the clatter of Tim and Clark arriving again in the hangar.</p><p>Damian startles against Jason, inhaling sharply as he slips down Jason’s chest a bit before he sits straight up. His eyes dart around, pupils huge, adrenaline clearly surging.</p><p>“Just Tim and Clark,” Jason says.</p><p>Damian’s head snaps towards him, and he look at Jason for a long time before nodding and settling back into his chair, pulling the towel tighter around him.</p><p>They go from staring at the door to the open end of the hallway. Clark and Tim come around the corner, Clark still dressed as Superman but Tim has changed, dressed down for once, in black sweats and a hoodie that Jason’s pretty sure he’s seen Superboy wearing before.</p><p>Superman has a duffle bag, which he hands to Jason. “There’s a change for each of you in there,” he says.</p><p>Jason takes the bag and stares at it. He could put it at his feet and Damian and Cassandra can root through it for their own clothes. The three of them are all drastically different sizes, it shouldn’t be hard to tell. He opens the bag and find three neatly stacked piles of clothes.</p><p>Damian’s hand sneaks out and grabs a soft blue hoodie before Jason can even examine the rest of the clothes.</p><p>The kid hugs the hoodie to his chest, trembling slightly in his towel.</p><p>Cass drifts over as well, taking yellow sweater out of the bag. “I’m going to go change,” she announces softly.</p><p>Jason looks back at the door, still closed. He doesn’t want to go. What if something happens? He wasn’t there when Dick was taken, he has to be here now.</p><p>“We’ll call for you,” Superman says. He clasps both Damian and Jason on the shoulder gently.</p><p>Jason wonders vaguely how little of his strength he must be using, if Clark ever gets tired of moderating it. Jason’s never been good about pulling his punches, even during sparring. Bruce used to yell at him a lot for that. But it’s hard to tell…</p><p>“I promise,” Superman continues.</p><p>Jason jerks back into the moment. Fuck. “Yeah, all right,” he grumbles. He takes the bag in his hand and stands. Cass and Damian follow after him, which is a weird sensation. Jason’s not used to having people look to him like this. It feels like he’s wearing clothing that fits wrong.</p><p>He leads them to the bathroom for lack of a better idea. At least he knows for certain now where it is. He sets the bag on one of the benches in the middle of the room, steps back to let Cass and Damian at it. Cass has her sweater in hand, but she takes the rest of her clothes and moves aside to one of the other benches, turning her back.</p><p>Damian, however, hesitates.</p><p>“Uh, are you okay?” Jason asks, feeling awkward and silly.</p><p>Damian exhales. “Yes. I am fine,” he says, utter unconvincingly.</p><p>“Okay,” Jason says, a bit at a loss. He’s not going to pretend to understand the way Damian’s brain works. He takes his own clothes out of the bag and moves them to another bench, to the right, the opposite direction of Cass, turning his back on both of them.</p><p>Methodically, he strips out of his gear, piling it all on the bench. When he takes the real gun out of his waistband he ejects the clip, and the round already in the chamber, setting them to the side. He strips out of his dirty uniform clothes, rolling his shoulders as the weight of his jacket and holsters lifts. His shoulders ache, from the gear, the helmet, the tension of the day.</p><p>In Dick’s drawer of spares Jason had only kept a few things; Tim and Clark hadn’t been given much choice.. The shirt they’d grabbed is light gray, stretched and fraying. It’s old; Jason had stolen it when he’d first come back to Gotham, in need of something to blend in with on the streets. As Jason pulls it over his head now, it feels too light. Too soft, too thin. So unlike the weight that he can feel hanging off of him.</p><p><em>Stupid</em>. He shakes his head. He’s being stupid. It’s just a shirt.</p><p>Next comes his pants, heavy with pads and guards, some sewn into the fabric and some strapped on. Jason holds them in his hands, staring at the deep stain on the right leg. Dick’s blood had soaked through the heavy pant material, through the pads beneath it, staining Jason’s thigh.</p><p>He doesn’t bother cleaning it off, just pulls his jeans on over it. They’re also old, worn and thin, ripped at various places, the knee, the left shin. He doesn’t have any shoes, why would he have needed them, he hadn’t thought of it. So he sits to pull on his combat boots. He takes the concealed knife out of his boot, making sure it’s clean, before sliding it back in. The rest of his weapons, his holsters, his guns, he arranges into a neat pile. He doesn’t want to just throw them into a bag, but he doesn’t want to wear them either. It feels wrong.</p><p>He glances behind him.</p><p>Cass is fully dressed, black leggings on under her sweater, feet in beat up converse tucked up on the bench. Damian is in the middle of the bench, distance between himself and Cass, his feet similarly tucked up, knees clutched to his chest. He looks small, huddled against the chill of the room, his hood pulled up over his head. Like a baby bird, perched on a branch, unsure about flight.</p><p>“Hey,” Jason calls gently. “You two okay?”</p><p>Cass nods, but Damian doesn’t respond.</p><p>Cass tilts her head, looking at Damian for several seconds, before she says, “Yes, we’re fine.”</p><p>“Okay,” Jason says, running his hand through his hair. Generally, putting guns in a bag is not a smart idea, but Jason doesn’t want to carry them, so he resigns himself to it, ejecting all his clips, triple checking all the safeties, before he puts the guns into the duffle bag that had their clothes in it.</p><p>He picks it up and shrugs it over his shoulder, and heads to Cass and Damian.</p><p>Cass stands up and gently brushes against Damian when she does so.</p><p>Damian uncurls a little, picking his head up. He looks at Jason, still too serious, searching for something, before he stands up. He hovers close to Jason and Cass as they walk, all of them too close to each other than is usual, but Jason doesn’t say anything, just lets them hover.</p><p>Tim is still in a chair, head tilted back against the wall, resting his head as he stares at the door, but his head turns at their approach.</p><p>He doesn’t say anything.</p><p>Jason sits down in the same chair as last time, shoving the duffle under it. Damian follows him, tucking himself up against Jason’s arm once more.</p><p>“Nothing?” he asks, because he has to.</p><p>“Nothing,” Tim says. His face is blank, carefully neutral.</p><p>Cass sits next to him, and lays a hand on his arm.</p><p>They slip back into tense silence.</p><p>It’s Clark who breaks it eventually, some time later, Jason’s not sure. It doesn’t feel like time is passing normally, fast and slow all at once, passing in strange, heavy drips.</p><p>Clark’s lifting off the wall, cocking his head to the door.</p><p>“What, what’s happening?” Jason asks, instantly on alert.</p><p>“Stephanie is here,” Clark says. He gives Jason a reassuring smile. “I’m going to let her in.”</p><p>Time seems to tunnel again, and it feels like Jason is watching Clark leave and then he’s coming back, Stephanie running at his heels.</p><p>“Oh my god, are you all alright?” she gasps, bursting into the hallway in a flurry of purple costume and blonde hair and post patrol adrenaline. She skids to a stop in front of Damian’s chair, hands fluttering above his knees. “Damian, are you okay?”</p><p>Damian startles a little, but he nods. “I am fine,” he says.</p><p>Stephanie’s eyes are big, and it doesn’t look like she totally believes him, but she still nods. “Jason, what about you?”</p><p>Jason almost startles as well. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” he says, feeling thrown. It wasn’t him who was fucking kidnapped and chained and beaten. He barely even got in a fight.</p><p>Stephanie gives him the same nod and look she gave Damian.</p><p>Jason’s too confused to glare properly at her.</p><p>“We’re fine too,” Tim says.</p><p>Stephanie whips around. “I’m so glad,” she says. “I hated that I couldn’t help.”</p><p>Tim nods at her. “You were protecting the city. That’s important.”</p><p>Stephanie turns back around and switches her hands to Jason’s knees.</p><p>Jason lets her, still feeling confused about the attention. “So,” she says, “what’s the plan, what are we doing now?”</p><p>“Why are you asking <em>him</em>?”</p><p>Damian starts again at Tim’s voice, and Stephanie turns so fast her cape and hair whip around her.</p><p>“Tim-” she starts but Tim cuts her off.</p><p>“Jason is <em>not</em> in charge!” he says, too loud, too out of control, shooting to his feet.</p><p>Cassandra stands too, slowly, smoothly, hovering.</p><p>Jason stares, anger flaring under the numb shock and exhaustion of the last few hours. So what if he had wanted to ask Stephanie the same thing. He’s not in charge, he doesn’t want to be, but his fucking replacement doesn’t have to shove that in his face. “Shut up,” he snaps, legs tensing, preparing to stand.</p><p>“No!” Tim says. “Everyone’s been looking to you, Clark, Stephanie, Damian, even Bruce put you in charge! Why?” he demands. “Why you? You don’t even…you’re not a part of this! You do your own thing you never want to work with us, and now the one time you do, you’re in charge? It’s bullshit!”</p><p>Jason stands. “Fuck you!” he says. “I just wanted to save Dick, okay? I…he…dammit I wasn’t gonna let those assholes just hurt him!” He wishes he had something to throw. He wishes Tim was close enough to punch in his smug fucking face.</p><p>Luckily, Tim seems incensed enough to take a step forward and so Jason does too. Stephanie steps right up next to them, clearly ready to throw herself between them.</p><p>“You’re not a leader!” Tim spits. “You’ve never had a team, you’ve barely ever been a part of one! This is important, it’s Dick’s life! Damian’s life! You’re reckless and emotional, unqualified for this kind of operation!”</p><p>“Well it’s too fucking late for that, isn’t it, replacement?” Jason sneers.</p><p>Tim glares.</p><p>Jason sees him shift his weight and reacts fast, shifting his own weight.</p><p>Stephanie reacts too, wrapping an arm around Tim’s chest. “Tim, calm down,” she says softly. “This isn’t the place. You and Jason can punch each other when Dick isn’t in emergency surgery, okay?”</p><p>Tim doesn’t respond, his breathing hard, still glaring at Jason.</p><p>Jason gives him the finger.</p><p>Tim bares his teeth.</p><p>“Come on, Tim,” Stephanie says. “Let’s sit down.”</p><p>“Don’t patronize me,” Tim grumbles, but he sits down again, arms crossed, chest heaving.</p><p>Stephanie sits next to him, turned towards him.</p><p>Cass sits back down on Tim’s other side, facing the middle of the room, but resting her arm on his.</p><p>It’s fine. Jason knows that what Tim said is true. He’s not part of the family, no matter how hard Dick tries to change that. No matter how many operations Bruce might put him in charge of (just the one), or how many reassuring smiles Cass sends his way across the hallway, or how often Damian leans against his arm.</p><p>Jason swallows hard and shuts his eyes, fighting back the well of emotions. Fuck. He almost misses the emptiness. He wishes that Tim had taken a swing at him, that he could have poured his energy into an actual fight. Instead he’s left with an anxious itch under his skin.</p><p>Tim’s not even glaring at him anymore, eyes shut closed, forehead on his clasped hands.</p><p>Jason clenches and unclenches his fists. Clenches hard enough that he can feel his nails bite into his palms before uncurling them. It’s at the very least something sharp and painful to focus on.</p><p>Time slips away from him again, the only progress he’s aware of is the clench of his fist and Damian’s breath beside him, harsh and uncertain, but slowly evening out.</p><p>The sound of the door opening is loud in the tense, still silence.</p><p>Damian startles himself off of Jason’s shoulder, sucking in a shocked, scared breath.</p><p>Jason’s head shoots up.</p><p>In his peripheral vision he sees Tim shoot to his feet again, hand clenching on the back of his chair. Stephanie’s on her feet too, pressing forward on the balls of her feet, and Cass is actually standing on her chair.</p><p>Doctor Thompkins emerges from the door, and she has a reassuring smile on her face. Jason’s brain frantically tries to analyze it, perhaps she’s just trying to temper their reaction, she probably doesn’t want five on-edge superheroes flying at her.</p><p>“He’ll live,” Thompkins says, and Jason’s brain screeches to a halt.</p><p>There’s a joint exhale, but no one relaxes. The tense silence they’re suspended in simply continues.</p><p>If Doctor Thompkins finds their silent stares unnerving, she doesn’t show it. “Jason,” she says, “I’d like to speak with you.”</p><p>Jason doesn’t physically startle, but it’s a near thing. “Why?” he asks, his voice coming out rough after hours of disuse. He wets his lips. Does Thompkins know? Fuck, Bruce is back there, and if the doctor knows…Jason shoves it all aside. It doesn’t matter. <em>Dick</em> is what matters, and Jason needs to do whatever he can for him.</p><p>At his side Damian shifts, his fingers slowly uncurling from where they’ve wrapped themselves around the hem of Jason’s shirt.</p><p>Jason looks back at him as he stands, and resists the urge to give him a reassuring pat. Instead, he clenches his fists again and follows Thompkins into the treatment room.</p><p>The harsh medical lighting never does anyone any favors, but it still churns Jason’s stomach to see Dick lying on an bed, unnaturally pale and unnaturally still. There are cords everywhere: EKG’s on his chest, an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, a pulse monitor on his finger, an IV line of clear fluid going into his arm, a pump, probably of meds, feeding into a second IV, and a blood bag on his other arm. His leg is held elevated by a contraption of wires and slings, draped in bandages, but not tied ones, Jason notices. A blanket is draped awkwardly over the rest of his lower body, but his torso is bared. The lighting makes his bruises stand out, dark and livid, covering Dick’s skin in an ugly mix of colors, interrupted occasionally by a cut or a bandage. Even Dick’s naturally dark skin looks pale and washed out under the bruises and the lights.</p><p>His face doesn’t look much better. His nose is bruised an ugly purple under the mask, and his jaw is colored by overlapping bruises. The dried blood and dirt has been largely cleaned off of him, but Dick’s hair is still sticking together in clumps from sweat, clinging to his forehead, messily spread across the pillow.</p><p>He looks like he’s just lost a fight to a brick wall. And Dick…he doesn’t fucking lose fights. Jason’s never seen him like this, broken and defeated, and a whole awful lot like he’s dead. Jason forces himself to focus on the rise and fall of his chest, the beeping of the heart monitor.</p><p>Dick is too small, too still, and it’s hard to drag his attention anywhere else. But next to him is Bruce, leaning forward in a chair beside Dick’s bed, his eyes trained intensely on Dick. He’s staring like he might be able to heal Dick with just his eyes. His elbows are resting on his knees, his hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles are white. His chin rests on his knitted fingers, and he’s as still as Jason’s ever seen him, including as Batman.</p><p>Thompkins hand on Jason’s shoulder makes him flinch.</p><p>It’s a small miracle that Jason doesn’t punch her on instinct.</p><p>“I need to ask you a few questions in private,” she continues, her voice soft. She puts gentle pressure on Jason’s shoulder, trying to nudge him along. Jason’s finally able to drag his eyes aware from the wrenching tableau Dick and Bruce make to look at her.</p><p>She gives him another gentle push and Jason finds that he can force his legs to move, and he follows the doctor’s prodding into the attached observation room.</p><p>“What’s wrong with him?” Jason asks anxiously as she shuts the door behind them, his mind spinning with the possibilities. Is she trying to give him privacy for a breakdown over what she has to tell him next? “Why do you need to talk to me?”</p><p>“I just had a few questions of a personal nature,” Thompkins says, her voice still calm.</p><p>“Personal?” Jason repeats, running on instinct. “Why? I’m not the one who’s hurt.”</p><p>Thompkins continues to radiate calmness with her body language and her face and her tone.</p><p>It doesn’t help.</p><p>“I’m sure you’re aware that I perform regular check-ups for Dick,” she begins.</p><p>Jason hadn’t, but it makes sense, so he just grunts in affirmative anyways. Of course Dick gets regular check-ups like a good boy.</p><p>“That includes his sexual health,” Thompkins continues.</p><p><em>Oh</em>. Jason swallows and fights the stupid urge to squirm. He has nothing to be ashamed about. Dick is his fucking <em>boyfriend</em>, and they’re both adults, and they’re allowed to have sex with each other.</p><p>“There’s no easy way to say this, Jason,” Thompkins says, while Jason tries to wrangle his vocal cords into functioning. “There is physical evidence that Dick recently engaged in sexual intercourse, and it would help me know which may have been left in friendly circumstances.”</p><p>Jason screws his eyes closed and tries to breathe. The thought, the memory of what he’d seen on the tapes…it makes his ears ring with an angry rushing sound, makes his heart race, makes him see red. Those monsters had touched Dick, and Dick isn’t theirs too touch. They’d <em>hurt</em> him.</p><p>“Jason.”</p><p>Doctor Thompkins’ voice pulls Jason’s focus back into the room, into the present.</p><p>Jason exhales shakily. “We did have sex,” he admits. “The night before. We, uh, we went a few times.”</p><p>Thompkins nods. “Do you know if you left any marks?”</p><p>Jason nods. He almost always leaves marks. Dick <em>likes </em>being marked, moaning and gasping every time he feels Jason’s teeth against his skin. And besides, “I was holding him up,” Jason says. It’s hard not to leave bruises on Dick’s thighs when he fucks him against a wall. “And, uh, bite marks. In the same area.” Jason feels his cheeks heat. He likes to nip at the soft skin of Dick’s upper thighs when he eats Dick out, likes to switch up the sensations, keep Dick guessing, keep him surprised. “And the hickey on his neck.” He’d left that one knowing that people would see it, that the Nightwing collar would hide it, but Dick’s fancy suits wouldn’t. He’d wanted Dick to roll his eyes, amused but fond, when he realized he’d have to cover it up. “But nothing on his chest is mine.” That’s where Nightwing takes most of his hits, and it’s where all of Dick’s vital organs are. Too easy for something to go wrong if he hurts Dick there.</p><p>“Alright,” Thompkins says in her smooth Doctor voice. “Thank you, Jason. That was incredibly helpful.”</p><p>Jason doesn’t know if she’s just paying him lip service or not. He doesn’t care. “Is he going to be okay?” he asks, shoving everything else he’s feeling aside. Dick is what matters.</p><p>“I’m not going to lie to you,” Thompkins says. “It’s going to be a difficult, painful recovery. And not just physically. But I was able to stabilize him. He’s not going to die.”</p><p>It fucking <em>sucks</em> that just that can be considered good news, but still, Jason is pathetically relieved to hear it, even though Thompkins has already told them as much. He breathes out unsteadily again and runs a hand over his face. Dick will live, he repeats to himself. “Can I sit with him?” he asks.</p><p>Doctor Thompkins smiles at him. “Of course,” she says. “There’s already a chair. Just mind the wires.”</p><p>Jason had been so focused on Dick when he’d first come in he’d failed to notice that there is indeed a second chair, on the opposite side from where Bruce is sitting. Jason settles into it.</p><p>Dick doesn’t look any better up close. The unhealthy tinge of his skin is even more obvious, his dark skin technically paler than Bruce’s and even Jason’s, except, of course, where it’s dark purple with bruises.</p><p>Jason hovers his hand over Dick’s, hesitating over it, afraid that if he touches Dick the illusion will shatter and he’ll have lost him. He’s being stupid. He knows that. But his hand is shaking where it hangs in the air. <em>Stupid, stupid, stupid!</em> he berates himself in his own head. Dick would be brave enough to hold Jason’s hand, so Jason swallows and wraps his fingers around Dick’s.</p><p>Dick’s fingers are cold and dry, and he doesn’t react at all.</p><p>Jason squeezes his hand harder and tries very hard not to cry, even as tears blur his vision. Bruce is still there, and, Jason can feel, has switching to staring at<em> him</em>.</p><p>Once he has his tears under control, Jason picks his heads up and stares back at Bruce.</p><p>But Bruce’s eyes don’t have the edge in them that Jason has come to expect. Instead of the usual hard, stubborn glint Bruce’s eyes look, tired, worn, <em>sad</em>. Jason doesn’t think he’s ever seen Bruce so despondent.</p><p>He’s surprised to find that it hurts just as much to see Bruce cracked open as it does to see him withdrawn.</p><p>“You…you could hold his hand too, you know,” Jason finds himself saying, nodding at Bruce’s clasped hands, hovering above where Dick’s rests. “Dick likes that kind of shit.”</p><p>Bruce continues to stare at Jason, though there’s more than just a bit of confusion in his gaze now.</p><p>Eventually, he seems to loosen somehow, releasing the death grip on his own hands and instead taking Dick’s hand in between them, careful of the IV line in the back of Dick’s hand.</p><p>Neither Jason nor Bruce say anything, but in here, the silence is broken by the steady beep of Dick’s heart monitor, the whir of his breathing machine. Jason watches Dick’s chest rise, bruised and battered but still alive. It helps Jason breath a bit easier too.</p><p>Doctor Thompkins gives them their space, and their time, busying herself with something else on the other side of the room. Jason thinks that she must be cleaning something, but he’s not sure, and he can’t take his attention away from Dick enough to care.</p><p>Time passes a bit easier in here, with the signs of Dick’s life filling the room. Jason can almost feel himself start to settle, the adrenaline not quite fading, but not tensing his system anymore either. Nothing changes, Dick doesn’t so much as twitch, in the time it takes her to decide that they’ve had enough time.</p><p>“Bruce,” she says, standing at the foot of Dick’s bed.</p><p>Bruce hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t turn his attention from Dick.</p><p>“The rest of your children are still waiting outside,” Thompkins says.</p><p>“I thought you told them,” Bruce says, his voice low and raspy, like he’d been shouting, or crying. God, Jason hopes not.</p><p>“Do you really think that would satisfy them?” Thompkins says.</p><p>In other circumstances, Jason might have laughed.</p><p>“I recommend letting them in to see Dick, and then taking them all home,” Thompkins continues.</p><p>“I’m not leaving,” Bruce and Jason say together immediately. They both take their eyes off of Dick to glare at each other over his body.</p><p>Thompkins sighs, like she rather expected this. “One of you may stay overnight,” she allows. “I’ll let you decide amongst yourselves who it will be.”</p><p>Jason tries to formulate an argument that doesn’t come down to “I’m fucking him”. That he’s the next oldest, that he was the one to rescue Dick in the first place, that none of the rest of them want to spend time with Jason anyways. That he…that he’s <em>in love</em> with Dick. He can barely say it in his own head. It’s easiest when he’s telling Dick, bright and smiling and usually kissing the words out of Jason’s mouth. He doesn’t know if he can bring himself to say it in a room full of Dick’s family.</p><p>He doesn’t have much longer to think before Doctor Thompkins is opening the door, and the rest of the bats spill in.</p><p>It’s almost comical, the way they trip over each other, all of them trying to get through the door at once. Damian is almost knocked over by the other, bigger bodies, snarling as he rights himself by shoving at Tim. Tim staggers sideways, but is caught by Stephanie, who staggers back a bit, while Cass dances around the mess of the other three, ducking swiftly to the other side.</p><p>Doctor Thompkins is giving them the same, conciliatory smile, and not laughing at them, which Jason thinks is kind of her.</p><p>“Grayson,” Damian says, his voice quiet, trembling.</p><p>Stephanie squeezes his shoulders gently. Her eyes are wide as she looks at Dick, bottom lip trembling.</p><p>Tim looks shocked, eyes wide, color draining from his face.</p><p>Cass looks unreadable, like usual, though her eyes too are trained intensely on Dick’s body.</p><p>“Oh, god, Dick,” Stephanie breathes.</p><p>“He will live,” Thompkins reiterates. “I was able to stabilize him and stop the blood loss, but he’ll need to be watched. I’d like to keep him under observation for at least three days, to make sure there are no hemorrhages or infections. Once Dick himself is more lucid, we can talk long-term treatment options.”</p><p>“Long-term treatment,” Tim repeats, sounding almost mechanical.</p><p>Thompkins nods. “I anticipate that a full recovery, if possible, will be slow, and involve substantial rehabilitation, especially in regards to his left foot. But, of course, as an adult, that’s Dick’s own decision to make.” Her eyes go firm, looking specifically at Tim, Bruce, and Jason.</p><p>Jason swallows down his protest. He doesn’t want to think that he’d take Dick’s choice from him, but, well, he can’t pretend that he doesn’t know what he wants for Dick.</p><p>“Now, it’s late, and Dick will be sedated for several hours more for ease of healing,” Thompkins continues. “I will allow only one of you to stay.”</p><p>“I’ll do it,” they all say in chorus.</p><p>Thompkins lips don’t even twitch. Jason admires her poker face.</p><p>Tim tries to take control of the situation. He puts a hand on Damian’s shoulder and says, “Damian, you’re also injured. You should go back to the manor, have Alfred take a look at you. Get some rest.”</p><p>Damian growls. “I was with Grayson the whole time!” he shouts. “I want to be with him now!”</p><p>“When Dick wakes up, he’s going to want to see you well and healthy,” Stephanie says. “He’ll be upset if you stay all night at a hospital for him. You guys have had a long night. I’ll stay.”</p><p>“You’ve been patrolling,” Tim argues. “You should go rest.”</p><p>“Oh, please, I haven’t done nearly as much as the rest of you!” Stephanie protests.</p><p>“Dick doesn’t need people shouting at him,” Cass says. “I’ll stay.”</p><p>“Cass-” Stephanie starts.</p><p>“I understand what has been done to him,” Cass says, hands flying as she signs along with her words.</p><p>“Cass, you don’t have to do that to yourself,” Tim says.</p><p>“I am volunteering!” Cass snaps.</p><p>“Stop arguing,” Bruce commands, voice deep enough that it seems to rumble around the room. “I will stay,” he says.</p><p>“Father,” Damian says quietly. He shrugs off Stephanie’s and Tim’s hands and steps forward, towards Bruce, become coming to a stop halfway.</p><p>“Damian,” Bruce says. He finally picks his eyes up from Dick’s body to look at him. “It is not your duty to take care of Dick,” he says.</p><p>“I-” Damian’s voice wobbles. He shuts his eyes and drops his head. “I failed you,” he says, hushed and rough, like he’s choking back tears. “I did not utilize my training, I let myself get captured and I let Grayson come to harm. I am sorry, Father.” He turns on his heel and bolts, shouldering his way past Steph and Tim again on his way back to the hallway.</p><p>Everyone’s eyes snap from Damian’s back to Bruce, glaring.</p><p>“Go!” Cass signs angrily, making physical everyone’s thoughts.</p><p>Bruce sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he hands. “Jason,” he says, pointing.</p><p>Jason doesn’t startle, but his back goes straight in his chair. “What,” he says, trying to sound bland and annoyed, not shocked and uncertain.</p><p>“You will stay with Dick tonight,” Bruce says, making it sound like his decision, his order. It makes Jason chafe as much as he wants to gloat. “The rest of you will come home with me.”</p><p>“Excellent, good plan,” Doctor Thompkins says before anyone can say anything else, and just in time too, because Tim’s mouth is already open, his eyes narrowed. “Thirty hours. You can come back after that.”</p><p>“But-” Tim starts to protest, but Thompkins narrows her eyes at him.</p><p>“Dick needs rest, and peace, and slow, incremental steps of healing. None of that will be helped by the lot of you clamoring at his bedside. Now, go.”</p><p>Cass goes quietly, though she looks back over her shoulder at Dick and signs something quick enough that Jason misses most of it, though he catches “I love you”, “soon”, and “better”.</p><p>Stephanie takes Tim by the arm as he stomps out, biting savagely into his bottom lip like he’s physically holding in his protests.</p><p>Bruce stops at the door and looks back, but at Jason, not Dick. “Take care of him,” he says, and his tone is gentler than his usual orders.</p><p>Jason just nods and says, “Yeah,” instead of something biting and sarcastic like his instincts want. He’s not stupid. He knows that Bruce is giving him this time with Dick, this responsibility of him, with not even a fight. It’s almost as overwhelming as being put in charge of the operation had been.</p><p>It clicks in Jason’s head. Oh, Bruce <em>definitely</em> knows. Jason must have done something tonight that had given them away. He just hopes that Dick won’t be too mad about it when he wakes up, and he <em>will</em> fucking wake up, Thompkins said so. At least this feels a lot like Bruce’s approval.</p><p>Bruce’s gaze goes back to Dick, and for a second Jason sees that cracked open, vulnerable look on his face again, before the mask slams down and Bruce’s expression shutters once more.</p><p>Thompkins closes the door behind him and turns to Jason. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything comfortable to sleep on,” she says.</p><p>Jason shrugs. “That’s fine,” he says. “Not gonna sleep anyways.”</p><p>Thompkins frowns. “There’s no need for that,” she says. “I meant it when I said that it’s unlikely for there to be any major developments while he sleeps.”</p><p>Jason just shrugs. “Too much adrenaline,” he says casually. He doubts that he’ll be able to relax enough to sleep while Dick barely clings to life.</p><p>Thompkins continues to frown at him, but she seems to decide that it’s not worth arguing. “I am going to get some rest,” she says. “If you’re going to stay awake, you might as well keep an eye on him. All the pumps are automated. In a few hours I’ll come back and start easing him off the sedatives.”</p><p>Jason nods.</p><p>“If any of his vital signs drop too low an alarm will go off and I’ll come back. If you need me though, there’s a call button here,” she continues, pointing to a button taped to one of the poles near Dick’s bed. If Dick were awake, it would be within reach of his left hand.</p><p>“’Kay,” Jason says. “What should I be lookin’ for?”</p><p>“A fever, mostly. It’s highly likely that he’ll have a least a minor infection, in which case a fever will most likely develop soon. It’s okay if he gets one, but anything above one-hundred and two press the button.”</p><p>Jason nods again.</p><p>“And Jason,” Thompkins says, pausing until Jason looks up and makes eye contact at her. “I want you to call if <em>you</em> need anything as well.”</p><p>Jason swallows hard and grits his teeth, but he manages to nod again.</p><p>“Okay,” Thompkins gives him a soft smile and even pats Jason on the shoulder as she heads out, presumably to some attached quarters.</p><p>Jason turns his attention back to Dick. Thompkins is right, nothing about his position on the bed is different. The numbers and the lines on the monitors remains constant, and Dick himself hasn’t moved, except for his chest, which is rising and falling. Jason watches it, entranced, reassured by it.</p><p>It’s easy for him to sit there and watch Dick breathe. Jason is used to sitting still and watching. Stakeouts, of course, but he knows it’s something else too. It’s easy, to let his brain just buzz out, let time slip away. It doesn’t bother him, he doesn’t get bored when he’s in this space, just focused on Dick.</p><p>He has no idea how long it’s been before Doctor Thompkins comes back.</p><p>She gives him a bit of a hard look when she sees him sitting exactly where she left him, but she doesn’t say anything. She takes a look at Dick’s monitors, makes notes of the numbers, and hums thoughtfully.</p><p>“He’s doing fine, yeah?” Jason asks, willing the answer he wants to hear.</p><p>Thompkins gives him a little nod. “He’s stabilizing well. I’m going to switch him to a cannula for breathing.”</p><p>“That’s good, right?” Jason says.</p><p>Thompkins nods again, distracted by her work, already pulling gloves on. She cradles Dick’s head gently as she lifts it so she can slip off the mask before inserting the cannula up his nose.</p><p>Dick doesn’t respond, which is just fucking eerie, but at least it means he doesn’t get worse either, clearly still able to breathe.</p><p>Jason exhales a bit.</p><p>Thompkins smiles at him. “I told you, he’s stabilizing very well. I’m also going to slowly ease back the sedative; I want to see him conscious. If he does wake, he’s likely to be disoriented and upset. Answer his questions if he can ask any, but make sure to keep him calm.”</p><p>“Of course,” Jason says easily. He never wants to hurt Dick, upset him.</p><p>“I’m going to put a curtain over his leg, the sight of it could heighten his distress,” Thompkins says. She gestures for Jason to get up, so he does, standing off to the side while Thompkins rigs up a curtain at Dick’s knees, shielding his injured leg from his own view.</p><p>Jason stretches out his back, cracking it out of its held position. It’s a relief on his spine, and huh, maybe Thompkins had a point about Jason not sitting in a chair all night, even if he doesn’t really mind. His body has taken much worse abuse.</p><p>“If you’d like time with him, you don’t have to call me if he does start to stir,” Thompkins says, “unless there is something concerning or if he’s too upset.”</p><p>“I’ve got him,” Jason promises.</p><p>Thompkins smiles at him before leaving once more.</p><p>Once she’s gone, Jason does go about making himself more comfortable. He grabs the chair he was sitting in and drags it over so it’s next to the one Bruce had been using. He turns them towards each other, making a kind of bench out of them. It’s not long enough for his body, not nearly, but Jason is comfortable enough with his back against the back of one chair and his ankles slung over the back of the other.</p><p>It puts him on Dick’s right side, and close enough that he can reach out and touch Dick. He does, stroking a finger across Dick’s cheek. His skin is soft, and warm, and it’s such a relief to touch him that Jason feels emotion welling in his chest.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>He shifts and puts his forehead in the little pillow space between Dick’s head and his shoulder.</p><p>All he can really smell is hospital; harsh cleaners and the sting of disinfectant. Usually, he can only smell Dick like this, usually he’s surrounded by Dick, his sweat, his cologne, sometimes tinged by the spandex and Kevlar of the Nightwing suit. He misses it so fucking much.</p><p>“C’mon, babe, wake up for me, okay?” he whispers against Dick’s skin, kissing his cheek.</p><p>Dick doesn’t stir, but Jason hadn’t really expected him too. Dick’s the romantic idiot in this relationship, not him.</p><p>Jason pulls back and returns to watching Dick, one hand resting on the bed by his shoulder, and the other gently cupping Dick’s right elbow, just for connection.</p><p>Eventually, Dick does start to stir, his lips move and his brow furrows, and Jason sits up straight in his chair, alert. “Hey, Dick, it’s Jason,” he says, low and soothing. “You wakin’ up?”</p><p>Dick’s eyes move beneath his eyelids and his fingers twitch again before he falls still.</p><p>Jason exhales slowly, but remains alert. He notices that Dick’s cheeks are flushing, and that when he does reach out and put the back of his hand on Dick’s head, that he’s hot, uncomfortably so.</p><p>A fever, just like Doctor Thompkins had warned.</p><p>“Fuck,” Jason mutters. “It’ll be okay, Dickie.” He strokes Dick’s messy bangs off his forehead, trying to comb them out with his fingers. Dick likes his hair played with. Jason’s teased him before about how he should grow it out properly if he likes it so much. Dick had laughed and admitted that he’d tried, once, and that he’d gotten his mullet chopped off in a fight. Jason had laughed for a long time at that story.</p><p>Combing out Dick’s hair, the parts of it Jason can reach anyways, is a soothing kind of task, he finds. Dick’s hair needs to be washed, and it doesn’t quite feel or smell right, but Jason can focus on his fingers moving through the tangles, can focus on Dick’s dark hair slipping across his hands. Dick’s alive, and he’s here. Jason got to him in time.</p><p>Then Dick’s head rolls, forehead pushing into Jason’s hands. He’s still hot, but when Jason looks back at him, he sees Dick trying to open his eyes.</p><p>He gets them partway open and then makes a soft sound, clearly in distress.</p><p>“Hey, Dickiebird, it’s just me, just Jason, okay?” Jason says immediately, a rush of relief making him babble. “I’m here, and you’re safe now. Not gonna let anything happen to you.”</p><p>Dick’s brow scrunches again and he cries out softly, his arm coming up, sluggish and uncoordinated, to paw at his face. “N-no,” he says. “Nn…stop.”</p><p>Jason shifts, trying to get his face in Dick’s eyeline. “Hey, sweetheart, look at me. It’s me, it’s Jason.”</p><p>Dick’s fingers push ineffectively at his cannula, soft whines still spilling from him.</p><p>Jason catches them gently, holding Dick’s hand in his own. “It’s just a cannula, babe. It’s helping you breathe.”</p><p>“Lemme…guh…” Dick mumbles.</p><p>“It’s just me,” Jason repeats. “Just your Jaybird.”</p><p>Dick makes another soft sound and shakes his head a little. “Hurts,” he pants.</p><p>“I know,” Jason soothes. “I know, but the pain medication is automatic, you’ll get another dose soon, okay?”</p><p>Dick murmurs again, unintelligibly, fingers twitching in Jason’s hold.</p><p>Jason flips his hand, threading their fingers together, pressing their palms together.</p><p>Dick makes another soft sound, but it sounds confused now, not upset.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s me,” Jason tells him. “Come back to me a bit.”</p><p>Dick tosses his head and whines, but he manages to open his eyes more. They’re dull and glassy, the pupils blown, and they move a little, seemingly not processing, before they eventually fall on their joined hands, resting on Dick’s chest.</p><p>“H…hm,” Dick mutters.</p><p>“Gotta speak up a little, babe,” Jason says. “Can’t read your mind.”</p><p>Dick’s eyes track their way up Jason’s arm, across his shoulder to his face.</p><p>Dick squints and blinks a little, scrunching up his face, before he whispers, “Jay?”</p><p>The tight thing wrapped around Jason’s chest loosens. “Yeah, it’s me, Dickiebird.”</p><p>“H-how? Wha’?” Dick asks, tongue sticking to his mouth a little. He licks his lips.</p><p>When Thompkins comes back Jason will have to ask her for some water, or at least ice chips.</p><p>“Superman helped me find you,” Jason says. “You’re safe now.”</p><p>Dick nods a little. “Jason…” he breathes. Then, “Gonna stay?”</p><p>“Yeah, babe, of course,” Jason promises. “Not going anywhere. I promise.” He leans forward and presses his forehead against Dick’s. “I promise,” he repeats in a whisper.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic starts out light but will get explicitly dark, so please heed warnings.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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